THE 


CIRCUIT  RIDER 


A    TALE  OF  THE  HEROIC  AGE. 


BY 


EDWARD   EGGLESTON, 

Author  of  "The  Hoosier  School-master,"       "  Roxy?  etc 


**The  voice  of  one  crying  in  the  wilderness." 

Isaiah. 

u Beginners  of  a  better  time, 

And  glorying  in  their  vows." 


NEW   YORK: 

CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S     3ONS, 
1911 


COPYRIGHT,  1878,  BT 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S 

COFTBIGHT,  1902,  BY 

EDWARD  EGGLESTON. 
(AU  rights  reserved.) 


TO  MY  COMRADES  OF  OTHER  YEARS, 

THE   BRAVE  AND  .SELF-SACRIFICING   MEN    WITH   WHOM  I    HAD  THB 
HONOR    TO    BE    ASSOCIATED     IN    A    FRONTIER    MINISTRY, 

THIS  BOOK  IS  INSCRIBED- 


248982 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PACK 

I.— THE  CORN  SHUCKING       ;.....  9 

II. — THE  FROLIC      ..„.*...  20 

III. — GOING  TO  MEETING          .       .        :       •       .        .  3° 

IV.— A  BATTLE 40 

V.— A  CRISIS    .    • 52 

VI.— THE  FALL  HUNT      .......  61 

^>yil.— TREEING  A  PREACHER 68 

VIII. — A  LESSON  IN  SYNTAX 75 

IX. — THE  COMING  OF  THE  CIRCUIT  RIDER     ...  86 

X. — PATTY  IN  THE  SPRING-HOUSE 94 

XI. — THE  VOICE  IN  THE  WILDERNESS     ....  99 

XII. — MR.  BRADY  PROPHESIES loo 

XIII.— Two  TO  ONE 116 

XIV.— KIKE'S  SERMON         .......  122 

XV. — MORTON'S  RETREAT         •*•«••  131 

XVI.— SHORT  SHRIFT 141 

XVII. — DELIVERANCE 153 

XVIII.— THE  PRODIGAL  RETURNS 166 


ii  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PAGB 

XIX.— PATTY 173 

XX.— THE  CONFERENCE  AT  HICKORY  RIDGE       .  184 

XXI. — CONVALESCENCE 196 

XXII. — THE  DECISION 204 

XXIII. — RUSSELL  BIGELOW'S  SERMON       .       .       .       .212 
XXIV.— DRAWING  THE  LATCH-STRING  DC.       .       .       .223 

XXV.— ANN  ELIZA 220 

XXVI.— ENGAGEMENT .243 

XXVII.— THE  CAMP-MEETING 252 

XXVIII. — PATTY  AND  HER  PATIENT     ...       .       *       .    287 

XXIX.— PATTY'S  JOURNEY 278 

XXX. — THE  SCHOOLMASTER  AND  THE  WIDOW        *       .291 

XXXI.— KIKE 297 

XXXII.— PINKEY'S  DISCOVERY     ......    3°4 

XXXIII. — THE  ALABASTER  Box  BROKEN     .       •       .       •    307 
XXXIV.— THE  BROTHER 3*3 

XXXV.— PlNKEY  AND   ANN  ELIZA       .          •          .          •          .     32« 

XXXVI.— GETTING  THE  A^SWEI  ,  -    339 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


f  .  SPINNING-WHEEL  AND  RIFLE          •       •       •        Frontispiect 


2.  CAPTAIN  LUMSDEN  .....       ...  12 

3.  MORT  GOODWIN     .....       .       .        .  16 

4.  HOMELY  S'MANTHY.      „        ......24 

5.  PATTY  AND  JEMIMA       ..•••••25 

6.  LITTLE  GABE'S  DISCOMFITURE       .....  28 

7.  IN  THE  STABLE       ........  36 

8.  MORT,  DOLLY  AND  KIKE       ......  44 

9.  GOOD  BYE!     .........  51 

to.  THE  ALTERCATION  ........  59 

11.  THE  IRISH  SCHOOLMASTER     ......  64 

12.  ELECTIONEERING     .......        •  7« 

13.  PATTY  IN  HER  CHAMBER        ......  77 

14.  COLONEL  WHEELER'S  DOORYARD   .        ....  89 

15.  PATTY  IN  THE  SPRING-HOUSE       •        •       •       •        .  96 

16.  JOB  GOODWIN  ........        .  112 

n.  Two  TO  ONE  .........  118 

t8.   GAMBLING       .•••••••  133 


iv  ILL  USTRA  TIONS. 

PAGl 

19.  A  LAST  HOPE 152 

20.  THE  CHOICE 181 

21.  GOING  TO  CONFERENCE           ,       •        .       •        «        .  185 

22.  CONVALESCENCE       .....                •  199 

23.  THE  CONNECTICUT  PEDDLER 214 

24.  ANN  ELIZA      r. 231 

25.  FACING  A  MOB «  245 

26.  "II AIR-HUNG  ANI>  BREEZE-SHAKEN*               .       .  262 

27.  THE  SCHOOL-TEACHER  OF  HICKORY  RIDGE          .        .  270 

28.  THE  REUNION 300 

tg.   THE  BROTHERS        .        .         ,•••,»  316 

30.  AN  ACCUSING  MEMORY    .       .       .  X22 

31,  AT  THE  SPRING-HOUSE  AGAIN                •       •       •       «  33^ 


PREFACE. 


'fT/HATEVER  is  incredible  in  this  story  is  true. 

VV~~The  tale  Y  Have  to  tell  will  seem  strange  to 
those  who  know  little  of  the  social  life  of  the  West  at  the 
beginning  of  this  century.  These  sharp  contrasts  of  corn-  ^ 
shuckings  and  camp-meetings,  of  wild  revels  followed 
by  wild  revivals ;  these  contacts  of  highwayman  and 
preacher;  this  melange  of  picturesque  simplicity,  gro- 
tesque humor  and  savage  ferocity,  of  abandoned  wicked- 
ness and  austere  piety,  can  hardly  seem  real  to  those 
who  know  the  country  now.  But  the  books  of  biography 
and  reminiscence  which  preserve  the  memory  of  that 
time  more  than  justify  what  is  marvelous  in  these  pages. 
Living,  in  early  boyhood,  on  the  very  ground  where 
my  grandfather — brave  old  Indian-fighter ! — had  defend- 
ed his  family  in  a  block-house  built  in  a  wilderness 
by  his  own  hands,  I  grew  up  familiar  with  this  strange 
wild  life.  At  the  age  when  other  children  hear  fables 
and  fairy  stories,  my  childish,  fancy  was  filled  with 
traditions  of  battles  with  Indians  and  highwaymen. 
Instead  of  imaginary  giant-killers,  children  then  heard 
of  real  Indian  -  slayers ;  instead  of  Blue -Beards,  we 
had  Murrell  and  his  robbers ;  instead  of  Little  Red 
Riding  Hood's  wolf,  we  were  regaled  with  the  daring 
adventures  of  the  generation  before  us,  in  conflict  with 
wild  beasts  on  the  very  road  we  traveled  to  school.  In 


vi  PREFACE. 

many  households  the  old  customs  still  held  sway;  the 
wool  was  carded,  spun,  dyed,  woven,  cut  and  made  up  in 
the  house:  the  corn-shucking,  wood-chopping,  quilting, 
apple-peeling  and  country  "  hoe-down "  had  not  yet 
fallen  into  disuse. 

In  a  true  picture  of  this  life  neither  the  Indian  nor 
the  hunter  is  the  center-piece,  but;  the  circuit-rider) 
More  than  any  one  else,  the  early  circuit  preachers 
brought  order  out  of  this  chaos.  In  no  other  class  was 
^  /the  real  heroic  element  so  finely  displayed.  How  do  I 
remember  the  forms  and  weather-beaten  visages  of  the 
I  old  preachers,  whose  constitutions  had  conquered  starva- 
tion and  exposure — who  had  survived  swamps,  alligators, 
Indians,  highway  robbers  and  bilious  fevers !  How 
was  my  boyish  soul  tickled  with  their  anecdotes  of 
rude  experience — how  was  my  imagination  wrought  upon 
by  the  recital  of  their  hair-breadth  escapes !  How  was 
my  heart  set  afire  by  their  contagious  religious  enthusi- 
asm, so  that  at  eighteen  years  of  age  I  bestrode  the 
saddle-bags  myself  and  laid  upon  a  feeble  frame  the 
heavy  burden  of  emulating  their  toils !  Surely  I  have  a 
right  to  celebrate  them,  since  they  came  so  near  being 
the  death  of  me. 

Jt  is  not  possible  to  write  of  this  heroic  race  of  men 
without  enthusiasm^  But  nothing;  has  been  further  from 
my  mind  than  the  glorifying  of  a  sect.  If  I  were  capable 
,  of  sectarian  pride,  I  should  not  come  upon  the  platform 
of  Christian  union*  to  display  it.  There  are  those, 
indeed,  whose  sectarian  pride  will  be  offended  that  I 
have  frankly  shown;  the  rude  as  well  as  the  heroic  side  of 
early  Methodism.  ;  I  beg  they  will  remember  the  solemn 

*   "  The   Circuit   Rider "   originally  appeared  as  a  serial  in 
^The  Christian  Union. 


PREFACE.  viit 

obligations  of  a  novelist  to  tell  the  truth.  Lawyers  and 
even  ministers  are  permitted  to  speak  entirely  on  one 
side.  But  no  man  is  worthy  to  be  called  a  novelist; 
who  does  not  endeavor  with  his  whole  soul  to  produce  • 
the  higher  form  of  history,  by  writing  truly  of  men  as 
they  are,  and  dispassionately  of  those  forms  of  life 
that  come  within  his  scope. 

Much  as  I  have  laughed  at  every  sort  of  grotesquerie, 
I  could  not  treat  the  early  religious  life  of  the  West 
otherwise  than  with  the  most  cordial  sympathy  and 
admiration.  And  yet  this  is  not  a  ''religious  novel,' ; 
one  in  which  all  the  bad  people  are_as  bad  as  they  can 
be,  and  all  the  good  people  a  little  better  than  they 
can  be.  I  have  not  even  asked  myself  what  may  be 
the  "moral."  The  story  of  any  true  life  is  wholesome, 
if  only  the  writer  will  tell  it  simply,  keeping  impertinent 
preachment  of  his  own  out  of  the  way. 

Doubtless  I  shall  hopelessly  damage  myself  with 
some  good  people  by  confessing  in  the  start  that,  from 
the  first  chapter  to  the  lastjfthjg  is  a  love-story?)  But  it 
is  not  my  fault.  It  is  God  who  made  love  so  universal 
that  no  picture  of  human  life  can  be  complete  where 
love  is  left  out. 

E.  E. 

BROOKLYN,  March,  1874. 


THE   CIRCUIT   RIDER: 

A_TALE  OF(THE  HEROIC  AGE. 


CHAPTER    I. 

THE     CORN-SHUCKING. 

QUBTRACTION  is  the  hardest  "ciphering"  in  the 
*^  book.  Fifty  or  sixty  years  off  the  date  at  the 
head  of  your  letter  is  easy  enough  to  the  "  organ  of 
number,"  but  a  severe  strain  on  the  imagination.  It 
is  hard  to  go  back  to  the  good  old  days  your  grand- 
mother talks  about — that  golden  age  when  people  were 
not  roasted  alive  in  a  sleeping  coach,  but  gently  tipped  • 
over  a  toppling  cliff  by  a  drunken  stage-driver. 

Grand  old  times  were  those  in  which  boys  politely 
took  off  their  hats  to  preacher  or  schoolmaster,  sol- 
acing their  fresh  young  hearts  afterward  by  making 
mouths  at  the  back  of  his  great-coat.  Blessed  days! 
in  which  parsons  wore  stiff,  white  stocks,  and  walked 
with  starched  dignity,  and  yet  were  not  too  good  to 
drink  peach-brandy  and  cherry -bounce  with  folks; 
when  Congressmen  were  so  honorable  that  they  scorn- 
ed bribes,  and  were  only  kept  from  killing  one  anoth- 
er by  the  exertions  of  the  sergeant-at-arms.  It  was  in 


\1J$  THE  CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

those  old  times  of  the  beginning  of  the  reign  of  Mad- 
ison, that  the  people  of  the  Hissawachee  settlement,  in 
Southern  Ohio,  prepared  to  attend  "the  corn-shuckin* 
down  at  Cap'n  Lumsden's." 

There  is  a  peculiar  freshness  about  the  entertain, 
ment  that  opens  the  gayeties  of  the  season.  The 
shucking  at  Lumsden's  had  the  advantage  of  being 
set  off  by  a  dim  back-ground  of  other  shuckings,  and 
quiltings,  and  wood-choppings,  and  apple-peelings  that 
were  to  follow,  to  say  nothing  of  the  frolics  pure  and 
simple — parties  alloyed  with  no  utilitarian  purposes. 

Lumsden's  corn  lay  ready  for  husking,  in  a  whitey- 
brown  ridge  five  or  six  feet  high.  The  Captain  was 
not  insensible  to  considerations  of  economy.  He 
knew  quite  well  that  it  would  be  cheaper  in  the  long 
run  to  have  it  husked  by  his  own  farm  hands ;  the 
expense  of  an  entertainment  in  whiskey  and  other 
needful  provisions,  and  the  wasteful  handling  of  the 
corn,  not  to  mention  the  obligation  to  send  a  hand 
to  other  huskings,  more  than  counter-balanced  the 
gratuitous  labor.  But  who  can  resist  the  public  senti- 
ment that  requires  a  man  to  be  a  gentleman  accord- 
ing to  the  standard  of  his  neighbors?  Captain  Lums- 
den  had  the  reputation  of  doing  many  things  which 
were  oppressive,  and  unjust,  but  to  have  "  shucked"  his 
own  corn  would  have  been  to  forfeit  his  respectability 
entirely.  It  would  have  placed  him  on  the  Pariah 
level  of  the  contemptible  Connecticut  Yankee  who 
had  bought  a  place  farther  up  the  creek,  and  who 
dared  to  husk  his  own  corn,  practise  certain  forbidden 
economies,  and  even  take  pay  for  such  trifles  as  but- 


THE   CORN.xHUCKING-  11 

ter,  and  eggs,  and  the  surplus  veal  of  a  calf  which  he 
had  killed.  The  propriety  of  "  ducking"  this  Yankee 
had  been  a  matter  of  serious  debate.  A  man  "  as 
tight  as  the  bark  on  a  beech  tree,"  and  a  Yankee  be- 
sides, was  next  door  to  a  horse-thief. 

So  there  was  a  corn-shucking  at  Cap'n  Lumsden's. 
The  "women-folks"  turned  the  festive  occasion  into 
farther  use  by  stretching  a  quilt  on  the  frames,  and 
having  the  ladies  of  the  party  spend  the  afternoon  in 
quilting  and  gossiping — the  younger  women  blushing 
inwardly,  and  sometimes  outwardly,  with  hope  and 
fear,  as  the  names  ->*"  certain  young  men  were  mention- 
ed. Who  could  :ell  what  disclosures  the  evening  frolic 
might  produc*  t  For,  though  "  circumstances  alter 
cases,"  they  nave  no  power  to  change  human  nature  ; 
and  the  ^atural  history  of  the  delightful  creature 
which  ^2  call  a  young  woman  was  essentially  the  same 
in  th"  Hissawachee  Bottom,  sixty  odd  years  ago,  that 
it  IP  on  Murray  or  Beacon  Street  Hill  in  these  mod- 
^rn  times.  Difference  enough  of  manner  and  costume 
— linsey-woolsey,  with  a  rare  calico  now  and  then  for 
Sundays ;  the  dropping  of  "  kercheys  "  by  polite  young 
girls — but  these  things  are  only  outward.  The  dainty 
girl  that  turns  away  from  my  story  with  disgust,  because 
"the  people  are  so  rough,'"  little  suspects  how  entirely 
O-  the  cuticle  is  her  refinement — how,  after  all,  there 
is  a  'ouch  of  nature  that  makes  Polly  Ann  and  Sary 
Jane  con  ?i.ns-german  to  Jennie,  and  Hattie,  and  Blanche, 
and  Mabei. 

It  was  just  dark — the  rising  full  moon  was  blazing 
like  a  bonfire  a^  .ong  the  trees  on  Campbell's  Hill, 

I 


12 


THE   CIRCUIT  RIDER. 


across  the  creek — when  the  shucking  party  gathered 
rapidly  around  the 
Captain's  ridge  of 
corn.  The  first  com- 
ers waited  for  the 
others,  and  spent  the 
time  looking  at  the 
heap,  and  specula- 
ting as  to  how  many 
bushels  it  would 
"shuck  out."  Cap- 
tain Lumsden,  an 
active,  eager  man, 
under  the  medium 
size,  welcomed  his 
neighbors  cordially, 
but  with  certain  re-  CAPTAIN  LUMSDEN. 

serves.  That  is  to  say,  he  spoke  with  hospitable  warmth 
to  each  new  comer,  but  brought  his  voice  up  at  the  last 
like  a  whip  -  cracker ;  there  was  a  something  in  what 
Dr.  Rush  would  call  the  "  vanish  "  of  his  enunciation, 
which  reminded  the  person  addressed  that  Captain 
Lumsden,  though  he  knew  how  to  treat  a  man  with 
politeness,  as  became  an  old  Virginia  gentleman,  was 
not  a  man  whose  supremacy  was  to  be  questioned  for 
a  moment.  He  reached  out  his  hand,  with  a  "  How- 
dy, Bill  ?"  "  Howdy,  Jeems  ?  how  's  your  mother  gittin', 
eh  ?"  and  "  Hello,  Bob,  I  thought  you  had  the  shakes 
— got  out  at  last,  did  you  ?"  Under  this  superficial  fa- 
miliarity a  certain  reserve  of  conscious  superiority  and 
flinty  self-will  never  failed  to  mak^  itself  appreciated. 


THE   CORN-SHUCKING.  13 

Let  us  understand  ourselves.  When  we  speak  of 
Captain  Lumsden  as  an  old  Virginia  gentleman,  we 
speak  from  his  own  standpoint.  In  his  native  state 
his  hereditary  rank  was  low — his  father  was  an  "  up- 
start," who,  besides  lacking  any  claims  to  "  good 
blood,"  had  made  money  by  doubtful  means.  But 
such  is  the  advantage  of  emigration  that  among  out- 
side barbarians  the  fact  of  having  been  born  in  "  Ole 
Virginny "  was  credential  enough.  Was  not  the  Old 
Dominion  the  mother  of  presidents,  and  of  gentle- 
men ?  And  so  Captain  Lumsden  was  accustomed  to 
tap  his  pantaloons  with  his  raw -hide  riding -whip, 
while  he  alluded  to  his  relationships  to  "  the  old 
families,"  the  Carys,  the  Archers,  the  Lees,  the  Peytons, 
and  the  far-famed  Willjam  and  Evelyn  Bird;  and  he 
was  especially  fond  of  mentioning  his  relationship  to 
that  family  whose  aristocratic  surname  is  spelled 
"  Enroughty,"  while  it  is  mysteriously  and  inexplicably 
pronounced  "Darby,"  and  to  the  "Tolivars,"  whose 
name  is  spelled  "  Taliaferro."  Nothing  smacks  more 
of  hereditary  nobility  than  a  divorce  betwixt  spelling 
and  pronouncing.  ,In  all  the  Captain's  strutting  talk 
there  was  this  shade  of  truth,  that  he  was  related  to 
the  old  families  through  his  wife.  For  Captain  Lums- 
den would  have  scorned  a  prima  facie  lie.  But,  in  his 
fertile  mind,  the  truth  was  ever  germinal — little  acorns 
of  fact  grew  to  great  oaks  of  fable. 

How  quickly  a  crowd  gathers !  While  I  have  been 
introducing  you  to  Lumsden,  the  Captain  has  been 
shaking  hands  m  his  way,  giving  a  cordial  grip,  and 
then  suddenly  relaxing,_and  withdrawing  his  hand  as 


14  TffE  CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

if  afraid  of  compromising  dignity,  and  all  the  while 
calling  out,  "  Ho,  Tom  !  Howdy,  Stevens  ?  Hello, 
3ohp«on !  is  Jhat  you  ?  Did  come  after  all,  eh  ?" 

Whexi  once  the  company  was  about  complete,  the 
%ext  step  was  to  divide  the  heap.  To  do  this,  judges 
vere  selected,  to  wit :  Mr.  Butterfield,  a  slow-speaking 
man,  who  was  believed  to  know  a  great  deal  because 
he  said  little,  and  looked  at  things  carefully ;  and 
Jake  Sniger,  who  also  had  a  reputation  for  knowing 
a  great  deal,  because  he  talked  glibly,  and  was  good 
at  off-hand  guessing.  Butterfield  looked  at  the  corn, 
first  on  one  side,  and  then  on  the  end  of  the  heap. 
Then  he  shook  his  head  in  uncertainty,  and  walked 
round  to  the  other  end  of  the  pile,  squinted  one  eye, 
took  sight  along  the  top  of  the  ridge,  measured  its 
base,  walked  from  one  end  to  the  other  with  long  strides 
as  if  pacing  the  distance,  and  again  took  bearings 
with  one  eye  shut,  while  the  young  lads  stared  at 
him  with  awe.  Jake  Sniger  strode  away  from  the 
corn  and  took  a  panoramic  view  of  it,  as  one  who 
scorned  to  examine  anything  minutely.  He  pointed  to 
the  left,  and  remarked  to  his  admirers  that  he  "  'low'd 
they  was  a  heap  sight  more  corn  in  the  left  hand 
eend  of  the  pile,  but  it  was  the  long,  yaller  gourd-seed, 
and  powerful  easy  to  shuck,  while  t'other  eend  wuz 
the  leetle,  flint,  hominy  corn,  and  had  a  right  smart 
sprinklin'  of  nubbins."  He  "  'low'd  whoever  got  aholt 
of  them  air  nubbins  would  git  sucked  in.  It  was  neck* 
and-neck  twixt  this  ere  and  that  air,  and  fer  his  own 
part,  he  thought  the  thing  mout  be  nigh  about  even, 
and  had  orter  be  divided  in  the  middle  of  the  pile.* 


THE   CORN-SHUCKING.  15 

Strange  to  say,  Butterfield,  after  all  his  sighting,  and 
pacing,  and  measuring,  arrived  at  the  same  difficult 
and  complex  conclusion,  which  remarkable  coincidence 
served  to  confirm  the  popular  confidence  in  the  infal*. 
libility  of  the  two  judges. 

So  the  ridge  of  corn  was  measured,  and  divided 
exactly  in  the  middle.  A  fence  rail,  leaning  against 
either  side,  marked  the  boundary  between  the  territo- 
ries of  the  two  parties.  The  next  thing  to  be  done 
was  to  select  the  captains.  Lumsden,  as  a  prudent 
man,  desiring  an  election  to  the  legislature,  declined 
to  appoint  them,  laughing  his  chuckling  kind  of  laugh, 
and  saying,  "Choose  for  yourselves,  boys,  choose  for 
yourselves." 

Bill  McConkey  was  on  the  ground,  and  there  was 
no  better  husker.  He  wanted  to  be  captain  on  one 
side,  but  somebody  in  the  crowd  objected  that  there 
was  no  one  present  who  could  "hold  a  taller  dip  to 
Bill's  shuckin." 

"Whar's  Mort  Goodwin?"  demanded  Bill;  "he's 
the  one  they  say  kin  lick  me.  I  'd  like  to  lay  him  out 
wunst." 

"  He  ain't  yer." 

"  That  air  's  him  a  comin'  through  the  cornstalks, 
I  'low,"  said  Jake  Sniger,  as  a  tall,  well-built  young 
man  came  striding  hurriedly  through  the  stripped  corn 
stalks,  put  two  hands  on  the  eight-rail  fence,  and 
cleared  it  at  a  bound. 

"That's  him!  that's  his  jump,"  said  "little  Kike,"  a 
nephew  of  Captain  Lumsden.  "  Could  n't  many  fellers 
do  that  eight-rail  fence  so  clean.'* 


16  THE  CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

"Hello,  Mort!"  they  all  cried  at  once  as  he  cama 


MORT  GoobwiN. 

up  taking  off  his  wide -rimmed  straw  hat  and  wiping 
his  forehead.  "  We  thought  you  wuz  n't  a  cornin' 
Here,  you  and  Conkey  choose  \ip." 

.  "  Let   somebody  else,"   said    Morton,  who   was   shy, 
and  ready  to  give  up  such  a  distinction  to  others. 

"Backs  out!"  said  Conkey,  sneering. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  said  Mort.  V  You  don't  appre- 
ciate kindness;  where 's  your  stick?" 

By  tossing  a  stick  from  one  to  the  other,  and  then 
passing  the  hand  of  one  above  that  of  the  other,  it 
was 'soon  decided  that  Bill  McConkey  should  have  the 
first  choice  of  men,  and  Morton  Goodwin  the  first 
choice  of  corn.  The  shuckers  were  thus  all  divided 
into  two  parts.  Captain  Lumsden,  as  host,  declining 


THE   CORN-SHUCKING.  17 

to  be  upon  either  side.  Goodwin  chose  the  end  of 
the  corn  which  had,  as  the  boys  declared,  "a  desp'- 
rate  sight  of  nubbins."  Then,  at  a  signal,  all  hands 
Went  to  work. 

The  com  had  to  be  husked  and  thrown  into  a 
2rib,  a  mere  pen  of  fence-rails. 

"Now,  boys,  crib  your  com,"  said  Captain  Lums- 
nen,  as  he  started  the  whiskey  bottle  on  its  encourag- 
ing travels  along  the  line  of  shuckers. 

"Hurrah,  boys  I"  shouted  McConkey.  "Pull  away, 
my  sweats!  work  like  dogs  in  a  meat-pot;  beat  'em 
all  to  thunder,  er  bust  a  biler,  by  jimminy!  Peel  'em 
off!  Thunder  and  blazes!  Hurrah!" 

This  loud  hallooing  may  have  cheered  his  own 
men,  but  it  certainly  stimulated  those  on  the  other 
side.  Morton  was  more  prudent;  he  husked  with  all. 
his  might,  and  called  «down  the  lines  in  an  under- 
tone, "  Let  them  holler,  boys,  never  mind  Bill ;  all  the 
breath  he  spends  in  noise  we  '11  spend  in  gittin'  the 
corn  peeled.  Here,  you !  don't  you  shove  that  corn 
back  in  the  shucks!  No  cheats  allowed  on  this  side!" 
Goodwin  had  taken  his  place  in  the  middle  of  his 
own  men,  where  he  could  overlook  them  and  husk, 
without  intermission,  himself;  knowing  that  his  own 
dexterity  was  worth  almost  as  much  as  the  work  oi 
two  men.  When  one  or  two  boys  on  his  side  began 
to  run  over  to  see  how  the  others  were  getting  along, 
he  ordered  them  back  with  great  firmness.  "  Let  them 
alone/'  he  said,  "  you  are  only  losing  time ;  work  hard 
at  first,  everybody  will  work  hard  at  the  last." 

For  nearly  an  hour  the  huskers  had  been  stripping 


18  THE   CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

husks  with  unremitting  eagerness ;  the  heap  of  un« 
shucked  corn  had  grown  smaller,  the  crib  was  nearly 
full  of  the  white  and  yellow  ears,  and  a  great  billow 
of  light  husks  had  arisen  behind  the  eager  workers. 

"Why  don't  you  drink?"  asked  Jake  Sniger,  who 
sat  next  to  Morton. 

"  Want 's  to  keep  his  breath  sweet  for  Patty  Lums- 
den,"  said  Ben  North,  with  a*  chuckle. 

Morton  did  not  knock  Ben  over,  and  Ben  never 
knew  how  near  he  came  to  getting  a  whipping. 

It  was  now  the  last  heavy  pull  of  the  shuckers. 
McConkey  had  drunk  rather  freely,  and  his  "Pull 
away,  sweats  !"  became  louder  than  ever.  Morton  found 
it  necessary  to  run  up  and  down  his  line  once  or 
twice,  and  hearten  his  men  by  telling  them  that  they 
were  "  sure  to  beat  if  they  only  stuck  to  it  well." 

The  two  parties  were  pretty  evenly  matched ;  the 
side  led  by  Goodwin  would  have  given  it  up  once  if 
it  had  not  been  for  his  cheers;  the  others  were  so 
near  to  victory  that  they  began  to  shout  in  advance, 
and  that  cheer,  before  they  were  through,  lost  them  the 
battle, — for  Goodwin,  calling  to  his  men,  fell  to  work 
in  a  way  that  set  them  wild  by  contagion,  and  for 
the  last  minute  they  made  almost  superhuman  exer- 
tions, sending  a  perfect  hail  of  white  corn  into  the 
crib,  and  licking  up  the  last  ear  in  time  to  rush  with 
a  shout  into  the  territory  of  the  other  party,  and  seize 
on  one  or  two  dozen  ears,  all  that  were  left,  to  show 
that  Morton  had  clearly  gained  the  victory.  Then 
there  was  a  general  wiping  of  foreheads,  and  a  gener* 
al  expression  of  good  feeling.  But  Bill  McConkey 


THE  FROLIC.  ^ 

vowed  that  he  "  knowed  what  the  other  side  ao.^s  •*?** 
their  corn,"  pointing  to  the  husk  pile. 

*  I  '11  bet  you  six  bits,"  said  Morton,  "  that  I  can 
find  more  corn  in  your  shucks  than  you  kin  in  mine." 
But  Bill  did  not  accept  the  wager.  ^ 

After  husking  the  corn  that  remained  under  the 
jails,  the  whole  party  adjourned  to  the  house,  washing 
their  hands  and  faces  in  -the  woodshed  as  they  passed 
into  the  old  hybrid  building,  half  log-cabin,  the  other 
half  block-house  fortification. 

The  quilting  frames  were  gone;  and  a  substantial 
supper  was  set  in  the  apartment  which  was  commonly 
used  for  parlor  and  sitting  room,  and  which  was  now 
pressed  into  service  for  a  dining  room.  The  ladies 
stood  around  against  the  wall  with  a  self-conscious 
air  of  modesty,  debating,  no  doubt,  the  effect  of  their 
linsey-woolsey  dresses.  For  what  is  the  use  of  carding 
and  spinning,  winding  and  weaving  cutting  and  sewing 
to  get  a  new  linsey  dress,  if  you  cannot  have  it  ad- 
mired? 


CHAPTER    II. 

THE     FROLIC. 

*""|  NriE  supper  was  stJon  dispatched;  the  huskers  eat- 
JL  ing  with  awkward  embarrassment,  as  frontiermen 
always  do  in  company, — even  in  the  company  of  each 
other.  To  eat  with  decency  and  composure  is  the 
final  triumph  of  civilization,  and  the  shuckers  of  Hissa- 
wachee  Bottom  got  through  with  the  disagreeable  per- 
formance as  hurriedly  as  possible,  the  more  so  that 
their  exciting  strife  had  given  them  vigorous  relish  foi 
Mrs.  Lumsden's  "chicken  fixin's,"  and  batter-cakes, 
and  "punkin-pies."  The  quilters  had  taken  their 
supper  an  hour  before,  the  table  not  affording  room 
for  both  parties.  When  supper  was  over  the  "  things*' 
were  quickly  put  away,  the  table  folded  up  and  re- 
moved to  the  kitchen  —  and  the  company  were  then 
ready  to  enjoy  themselves.  There  was  much  gawky 
timidity  on  the  part  of  the  young  men,  and  not  a  lit- 
tle shy  dropping  of  the  eyes  on  the  part  of  the  young 
women ;  but  the  most  courageous  presently  got  some  of 
the  rude,  country  plays  a-going.  The  pawns  were  sold 
over  the  head  of  the  blindfold  Mort  Goodwin,  who,  as 
the  wit  of  the  company,  devised  all  manner  of  penal- 
ties for  the  owners.  Susan  Tomkins  had  to  stand  up 
in  the  corner,  and  say, 

*  Here  I  stand  all  ragged  and  dirty, 
Kiss  me  quick,  or  I  '11  run  like  a  turkey." 


THE   FROLIC.  21 

These  lines  were  supposed  to  rhyme.  When  Aleck 
Tilley  essayed  to  comply  with  her  request,  she  tried  to 
run  like  a  turkey,  but  was  stopped  in  time. 

The  good  taste  of  people  who  enjoy  society  novels 
will  decide  at  once  that  these  boisterous,  unrefined 
sports  are  not  a  promising  beginning.  It  is  easy 
enough  to  imagine  heroism,  generosity  and  courage  in 
people  who  dance  on  velvet  carpets;  but  the  great 
heroes,  the  world's  demigods,  grew  in  just  such  rough 
social  states  as  that  of  Ohio  in  the  early  part  of  this 
century.  There  is  nothing  more  important  for  an 
over-refined  generation  than  to  understand  that  it  has 
not  a  monopoly  of  the  great  qualities  of  humanity, 
and  that  it  must  not  only  tolerate  rude  folk,  but 
sometimes  admire  in  them  traits  that  have  grown 
scarce  as  refinement  has  increased.  So  that  I  may 
not  shrink  from  telling  that  one  kissing -play  took 
the  place  of  another  until  the  excitement  and  merri- 
ment reached  a  pitch  which  would  be  thought  not 
consonant  with  propriety  by  the  society  that  loves 
round -dances  with  routs,  and  "the  German"  untrans- 
lated— though,  for  that  matter,  there  are  people  old- 
fashioned  enough  to  think  that  refined  deviltry  is  not 
much  better  than  rude  freedom,  after  all. 

Goodwin  entered  with  the  hearty  animal  spirits  of 
his  time  of  life  into  the  boisterous  sport ;  but  there 
was  one  drawback  to  his  pleasure — Patty  Lumsden 
would  not  play.  He  was  glad,  indeed,  that  she  did 
not ;  he  could  not  bear  to  see  her  kissed  by  his  com- 
panions. But,  then,  did  Patty  like  the  part  he  was 
taking  in  the  rustic  revel  ?  He  inly  rejoiced  that  his 


22  THE   CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

position  as  the  blindfold  Justice,  meeting  out  punish- 
ment  to  the  owner  of  each  forfeit,  saved  him,  to  some 
extent,  the  necessity  of  going  through  the  ordeal  of 
kissing.  True,  it  was  quite  possible  that  the  severest 
prescription  he  should  make  might  fall  on  his  own 
head,  if  the  pawn  happened  to  be  his;  but  he  was 
saved  by  his  good  luck  and  the  penetration  which  en- 
abled him  to  guess,  from  the  suppressed  chuckle  of  the 
seller,  when  the  offered  pawn  was  his  own. 

At  last,  "  forfeits  "  in  every  shape  became  too  dull 
for  the  growing  mirth  of  the  company.  They  ranged 
themselves  round  the  room  on  benches  and  chairs, 
and  began  to  sing  the  old  song: 

"  Oats,  peas,  beans,  and  barley  grow—- 
Oats, peas,  beans,  and  barley  grow — 
You  nor  I,  but  the  farmers,  know 
Where  oats,  peas,  beans,  and  barley  grow. 

"  Thus  the  farmer  sows  his  seed, 
Thus  he  stands  and  takes  his  ease, 
Stamps  his  foot,  and  claps  his  hands, 
And  whirls  around  and  views  his  lando 

"  Sure  as  grass  grows  in  the  field, 
Down  on  this  carpet  you  must  knee 
Salute  your  true  love,  kiss  her  sweet, 
And  rise  again  upon  your  feet." 

It  is  not  very  different  from  the  little  children  s 
play — an  old  rustic  sport,  I  doubt  not,  that  iias  existed 
in  England  from  immemorial  time,  McConkey  took 
the  handkerchief  first,  and,  whiie  the  company  were 
singing,  he  pretended  to  be  Booking  around  and  puz- 
zling himself  to  decide  whom  he  would  favor  with  his 


THE    FROLIC  23 

affection.  But  the  girls  nudged  one  another,  and  look- 
ed significantly  at  Jemima  Huddlestone.  Of  course, 
everybody  knew  that  Bill  would  take  Jemima.  That 
was  fore-ordained.  Everybody  knew  it  except  Bill  and 
Jemima!  Bill  fancied  that  he  was  standing  in  entire 
indecision,  and  Jemima — radiant  peony!  —  turned  her 
large,  red -cheeked  face  away  from  Bill,  and  studied 
meditatively  a  knot  in  a  floor-board.  But  her  averted 
gaze  only  made  her  expectancy  the  more  visible,  and 
the  significant  titter  of  the  company  deepened  the  hue 
and  widened  the  area  of  red  in  her  cheeks.  Attempts 
to  seem  unconscious  generally  result  disastrously.  But 
the  tittering,  and  nudging,  and  looking  toward  Jemima, 
did  not  prevent  the  singing  from  moving  on ;  and  now 
the  singers  have  reached  the  line  which  prescribes  the 
kneeling.  Bill  shakes  off  his  feigned  indecision,  and 
with  a  sudden  effort  recovers  from  his  vacant  and 
wandering  stare,  wheels  about,  spreads  the  "handker- 
cher "  at  the  feet  of  the  backwoods  Hebe,  and  diffi- 
dently kneels  upon  the  outer  edge,  while  she,  in  com- 
pliance with  the  order  of  the  play,  and  with  reluctance 
only  apparent,  also  drops  upon  her  knees  on  the  hand- 
kerchief, and,  with  downcast  eyes,  receives  upon  her 
red  cheek  a  kiss  so  hearty  and  unreserved  that  it 
awakens  laughter  and  applause.  Bill  now  arises  with 
the  air  of  a  man  who  has  done  his  whole  duty  under 
difficult  circumstances.  Jemima  lifts  the  handkerchief, 
and,  while  the  song  repeats  itself,  selects  some  gentle- 
man before  whom  she  kneels,  bestowing  on  him  a  kiss 
in  the  same  fashion,  leaving  him  the  handkerchief  to 
spread  before  some  new  divinity. 


THE   CIRCUIT  RIDER. 


This  alternation  had  gone  on  for  some  time.  Poor; 
sanguine,  homely 
Samantha  Britton 
had  looked  smiling- 
ly and  expectantly 
at  .each  successive 
gentleman  who  bore 
the  handkerchief ; 
but  in  vain.  "  S'man- 
thy "  could  never 
understand  why  her 
seductive  smiles 
were  so  unavailing. 
Presently,  Betty 
Harsha  was  chosen 
by  somebody — Bet- 
ty had  a  pretty, 
round  face,  and  pink  cheeks,  and  was  sure  to  be 
chosen,  sooner  or  later.  Everybody  knew  whom  she 
would  choose.  Morton  Goodwin  was  the  desire  of 
her  heart.  She  dressed  to  win  him ;  she  fixed  her 
eyes  on  him  in  church ;  she  put  herself  adroitly  in 
his  way  ;  she  compelled  him  to  escort  her  home 
against  his  will ;  and  now  that  she  held  the  hand- 
kerchief, everybody  looked  at  Goodwin.  Morton,  for 
his  part,  was  too  young  to  be  insensible  to  the 
charms  of  the  little  round,  impulsive  face,  the  twink- 
ling eyes,  the  red,  pouting  lips ;  and  he  was  not  averse 
to  having  the  pretty  girl,  in  her  new,  bright,  linsey 
frock,  single  him  out  for  her  admiration.  But  just 
at  this  moment  he  wished  she  might  choose  some 


HOMELY  S'MANTHY. 


THE    FRG.iJL. 


one  else.     For  Patty  Lumsden,  now   that  all  her  guests 

were    interested   in   the    play,  was     relieved   from    ner 

cares  as  hostess,  and  was  watching   the  progress  of  the 

exciting   amuse- 

ment.    She  stood 

behind   Jemima 

Huddleston,    and 

never    was    there 

finer    contrast 

than  between  the 

large,   healthful, 

high-colored    Je- 

mima,   a    typical 

country  belle,  and 

the  slight,  intelli 

gent,  fair-skinned 


PATTY  AND  JEMIMA. 


Patty,       whose 

black  hair  and 

eyes  made  her  complexion  seem  whiter,  and  whose 
resolute  lips  and  proud  carriage  heightened  the  refine- 
ment of  her  face.  Patty,  as  folks  said,  "  favored  "  her 
mother,  a  woman  of  considerable  pride  and  much  re- 
finement, who,  by  her  unwillingness  to  accept  the  rude  *'- 
customs  of  the  neighborhood,  had  about  as  bad  a  rep- 
utation as  one  can  have  in  a  frontier  community.  She 
was  regarded  as  excessively  "  stuck  up."  This  stigma 
of  aristocracy  was  very  pleasing  to  the  Captain.  His_ 
family  was  part  of  himself,  and  he  liked  to  believe 
them  better  than  anybody's  else.  But  he  heartily 
wished  that  Patty  would  sacrifice  her  dignity,  at  this 
juncture,  to  further  Ms  political  aspirations. 


26  THE   CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

Seeing  the  vision  of  Patty  standing  there  in  lier 
bright  new  calico — an  extraordinary  bit  of  finery  in 
those  days — Goodwin  wished  that  Betty  would  attack 
somebody  else,  for  once.  But  Betty  Harsha  bore 
down  on  the  perplexed  Morton,  and,  in  her  eagerness> 
did  not  wait  for  the  appropriate  line  to  come — she  did 
not  give  the  farmer  time  to  "  stomp "  his  foot,  and 
clap  his  hands,  much  less  to  whirl  around  and  view 
his  lands — but  plumped  down  upon  the  handkerchief 
before  Morton,  who  took  hfs  own  time  to  kneel.  But 
draw  it  out  as  he  would*  h^  presently  found  himself, 
after  having  been  kissed*  by  Betty,  standing  foolishly, 
handkerchief  in  hand,  while  the  verses  intended  for 
Betty  were  not  yet  finished.  Betty's  precipitancy, 
and  her  inevitable  gravitation  toward  Morton,  had  set 
all  the  players  laughing,  and  the  laugh  seemed  to 
Goodwin  to  be  partly  at  himself.  For,  indeed,  he  was 
perplexed.  To  choose  any  other  woman  for  his  "  true 
love"  even  in  play,  with  Patty  standing  by,  was  more 
than  he  could  do ;  to  offer  to  kneel  before  her  was 
more  than  he  dared  to  do.  He  hesitated  a  moment; 
he  feared  to  offend  Patty;  he  must  select  some  one. 
Just  at  the  instant  he  caught  sight  of  the  eager  face 
of  S'manthy  Britton  stretched  up  to  him,  as  it  had 
been  to  the  others,  with  an  anxious  smile.  Morton 
saw  a  way  out.  Patty  could  not  be  jealous  of  S'man- 
thy. He  spread  the  handkerchief  before  the  delighted 
girl,  and  a  moment  later  she  held  in  her  hand  the 
right  to  choose  a  partner. 

The  fop  of  the  party  was  "  Little  Gabe,"  that  is  to 
say,  Gabriel  Powers,  junior.  His  father  was  "  Old 


THE  FROLIC.  25 

Gabe,"  the  most  miserly  farmer  of  the  neighborhood.. 
But  Little  Gabe  had  run  away  in  boyhood,  and  had 
been  over  the  mountains,  had  made  some  money,  no- 
body could  tell  how,  and  had  invested  his  entire  cap- 
ital in  "store  clothes."  He  wore  a  mustache,  too,  which, 
being  an  unheard-of  innovation  in  those  primitive  times, 
marked  him  as  a  man  who  had  seen  the  world.  Every- 
body laughed  at  him  for  a  fop,  and  yet  everybody  ad- 
mired him.  None  of  the  girls  had  yet  dared  to  select 
Little  Gabe.  To  bring  their  linsey  near  to  store-cloth 
— to  venture  to  salute  liis  divine  mustache — who  could 
be  guilty  of  such  profanity?  ButS'manthy  was  mor- 
ally certain  that  she  would  not  soon  again  have  a 
chance  to  select  a  "  true  love,"  and  she  determined  to 
strike  high.  The  players  did  not  laugh  when  she 
spread  her  handkerchief  at  the  feet  of  Little  Gabe. 
They  were  appalled.  But  Gabe  dropped  on  one  knee, 
condescended  to  receive  her  salute,  and  lifted  the 
handkerchief  with  a  delicate  flourish  of  the  hand 
which  wore  a  ring  with  a  large  jewel,  avouched  by 
Little  Gabe  to  be  a  diamond  —  a  jewel  that  was  at 
least  transparent. 

Whom  would  Little  Gabe  choose  ?  became  at  once 
a  question  of  solemn  import  to  every  young  woman 
of  the  company;  for  even  girls  in  linsey  are  not  free 
from  that  liking  for  a  fop,  so  often  seen  in  ladies 
better  dressed.  In  her  heart  nearly  every  young  woman 
wished  that  Gabe  would  choose  herself.  But  Gabe 
was  one  of  those  men  who,  having  done  many  things 
by  the  magic  of  effrontery,  imagine  that  any  thing  can 
be  obtained  by  impudence,  if  only  the  impudence  be 


THE   CIRCUIT  RIDER. 


sufficiently  transcendent.  He  knew  that,  Miss  Lums- 
den  held  herself  aloof  from  the  kissing-plays,  and  he 
knew  equally  that  she  looked  favorably  on  Morton 
Goodwin ;  he  had  divined  Morton's'  struggle,  and  he 
had  already  marked  out  his  own  line  of  action.  He 
Stood  in  quiet  repose  while  the  first  two  stanzas  were 
sung.  As  the  third  began,  he  stepped  quickly  round 
the  chair  on  which  Jemima  Huddleston  sat,  and  stood 
before  Patty  Lumsden,  while  everybody*,  held  breath. 
Patty's  cheeks  did  not  grow  red,  but  pale,  she  turned 
suddenly  and  called  out  toward  the  kitchen  :• 

"What  do  you  want? 
I  am  coming,"  and  then 
walked  quietly  out,  as 
if  unconscious  of  Little 
Gabe's  presence  or  pur- 
pose. But  poor  Little 


LITTLE  GABE'S  DISCOMFITURE. 
Gabe  had  already  begun  to  kneel;  he  had  gone  too  fai 


THE   FROLIC.  29 

*:o  recover  himself;  he  dropped  upon  one  knee,  and  got 
up  immediately,  but  not  in  time  to  escape  the  general 
chorus  of  laughter  and  jeers.  He  sneered  at  the  de- 
parting figure  of  Patty,  and  said,  "  I  knew  I  could 
make  her  run."  But  he  could  not  conceal  his  discom- 
fiture. . 

When,  at  la'st,  the  party  broke  up,  Morton  essayed 
to  have  a  word  with  Patty.  He  found  her  standing 
i«i  the  deserted  kitchen,  and  his  heart  beat  quick  with 
the  thought  that  she  might  be  waiting  for  him.  The 
ruddy  glow  of  the  hickory  coals  in  the  wide  fire-place 
made  the  logs  of  the  kitchen  walls  bright,  and  gave 
a  tint  to  Patty's  white  face.  But  just  as  Morton  was 
about  to  speak,  Captain  Lumsden's  quick,  jerky  tread 
sounded  in  the  entry,  and  he  came  in,  laughing  his 
aggravating  metallic  little  laugh,  and  saying,  "  Mor- 
ton, where 's  your  manners*?  There  's  nobody  to  go 
home  with  Betty  Harsha." 

"Dog  on  Betty  Harsha!'*  muttered  Morton,  but  not 
loud  enough  for  the  Captain  to  hear.  And  he  escorted 
Betty  home. 


CHAPTER    III. 

GOING     TO     MEETING. 

EVERY  history  nas  one  quality  in  common  with 
eternity.  Begin  where  you  will,  there  is  always  a 
beginning  back  of  the  beginning.  And,  for  that  mat- 
ter, there  is  always  a  shadowy  ending  beyond  the  end- 
ing. Only  because  we  may  not  always  begin,  like 
Knickerbocker,  at  the  foundation  of  the  world,  is  it 
that  we  get  courage  to  break  somewhere  into  the  in- 
terlaced web  of  human  histories — of  loves  and  mar- 
riages, of  births  and  deaths,  of  hopes  and  fears,  of 
successes  and  disappointments,  of  gettings  and  havings, 
and  spendings  and  losings.  Yet,  break  in  where  we 
may,  there  is  always  just  a  little  behind  the  beginning, 
something  that  needs  to  be  told. 

I  find  it  necessary  that  the  reader  should  under- 
stand how  from  childhood  Morton  had  rather  worship- 
ed than  loved  Patty  Lumsden.  When  the  long  spell' 
ing-class,  at  the  close  of  school,  counted  off  its  num- 
bers, to  enable  each  scholar  to  remember  his  relative 
standing,  Patty  was  always  "one,"  and  Morton  "two." 
On  one  memorable  occasion,  when  the  all  but  infalli- 
ble Patty  misspelled  a  word,  the  all  but  infallible 
Morton,  disliking  to  "  turn  her  down,"  missed  also,  and 
went  down  with  her.  When  she  afterward  regained 
her  place,  he  took  pains  to  stand  always  "next  to 
head."  Bulwer  calls  first  love  a  great  "purifier  of 


GOING   TO  MEETING.  31 

youth,"  and,  despite  his  fondness  for  hunting,  horse- 
racing,  gaming,  and  the  other  wild  excitements  that 
were  prevalent  among  the  young  men  of  that  day, 
Morton  was  kept  from  worse  vices  by  his  devotion  to 
Patty,  and  by  a  certain  ingrained  manliness. 

Had  he  worshiped  her  less,  he  might  long  since 
have  proposed  to  her,  and  thus  have  ended  his  sus- 
pense ;  but  he  had  an  awful  sense  of  Patty's  nobility, 
and  of  his  own  unworthiness.  Moreover,  there  was  a 
lion  in  the  way.  Morton  trembled  before  the  face  of 
Captain  Lumsden. 

Lumsden  was  one  of  the  earliest  settlers,  and  was 
by  far  the  largest  land -owner  in  the  settlement.  In 
that  day  of  long  credit,  he  had  managed  to  place  him- 
self in  such  a  way  that  he  could  make  his  power  felt, 
directly  or  indirectly,  by  nearly  every  man  within 
twenty  miles  of  him.  The  very  judges  on  the  bench 
were  in  debt  to  him.  On  those  rare  occasions  when 
he  had  been  opposed,  Captain  Lumsden  had  struck  so 
ruthlessly,  and  with  such  regardlessness  of  means  or 
consequences,  that  he  had  become  a  terror  to  every- 
body. Two  or  three  families  had  been  compelled 
to  leave  the  settlement  by  his  vindictive  persecutions, 
so  that  his  name  had  come  to  carry  a  sort  of  royal 
authority.  Morton  Goodwin's  father  was  but  a  small 
farmer  on  the  hill,  a  man  naturally  unthrifty,  who  ha-5 
lost  the  greater  part  of  a  considerable  patrimony 
How  could  Morton,  therefore,  make  direct  advances  to 
so  proud  a  girl  as  Patty,  with  the  chances  in  favor  of 
refusal  by  her,  and  the  certainty  of  rejection  by  her 
father?  Illusion  is  not  the  dreadfulest  thing,  but  dis- 


32  THE   CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

illusion  —  Morton  preferred  to  cherish  his  hopeles* 
hope,  living  in  vain  expectation  of  some  improbable 
change  that  should  place  him  at  better  advantage  in 
his  addresses  to  Patty. 

At  first,  Lumsden  had  left  him  in  no  uncertainty  in 
regard  to  his  own  disposition  in  the  matter.  He  had 
frowned  upon  Goodwin's  advances  by  treating  him 
with  that  sort  of  repellant  patronage  which  is  so  ag- 
gravating, because  it  affords  one  no  good  excuse  for 
knocking  down  the  author  of  the  insult.  But  of  late, 
having  observed  the  growing  force  and  independence 
of  Morton's  character,  and  his  ascendancy  over  the 
men  of  his  own  age,  the  Captain  appreciated  the  ne- 
cessity of  attaching  such  a  person  to  himself,  particu- 
larly for  the  election  which  was  to  take  place  in  the 
autumn.  Not  that  he  had  any  intention  of  suffering 
Patty  to  marry  Morton.  He  only  meant  to  play  fast 
and  loose  a  while.  Had  he  even  intended  to  give  his 
approval  to  the  marriage  at  last,  he  would  have  played 
fast  and  loose  all  the  same,  for  the  sake  of  making 
Patty  and  her  lover  feel  his  power  as  long  as  possible. 
At  present,  he  meant  to  hold  out  just  enough  of  hope 
to  bind  the  ardent  young  man  to  his  interest.  Mor- 
ton, on  his  part,  reasoned  that  if  Lumsden's  kindness 
should  continue  to  increase  in  the  future  as  it  had 
in  the  three  weeks  past,  it  would  become  even  cor- 
dial, after  a  while.  To  young  men  in  love,  all  good 
things  are  progressive. 

On  the  Sunday  morning  following  the  shucking, 
Morton  rose  early,  and  went  to  the  stable.  Did  you 
ever  have  the  happiness  to  see  a  quiet  autumn  Sun- 


GOING   TO  MEETING  33 

day  in  the  backwoods?  Did  you  ever  observe  the 
stillness,  the  solitude,  the  softness  of  sunshine,  the  gen* 
tleness  of  wind,  the  chip-chip-chlurr-r-r  of  great  flocks 
of  blackbirds  getting  ready  for  migration,  the  lazy 
cawing  of  crows,  softened  by  distance,  the  half-laugh- 
ing bark  of  cunning  squirrel,  nibbling  his  prism-shaped 
beech-nut,  and  twinkling  his  jolly,  child-like  eye  at 
you  the  while,  as  if  to  say,  "  Don't  you  wish  you 
might  guess?" 

Not  that  Morton  saw  aught  of  these  things.  He 
never  heard  voices,  or  saw  sights,  out  of  the  common, 
and  that  very  October  Sunday  had  been  set  apart  for 
a  horse-race  down  at  "The  Forks."  The  one  piece 
of  property  which  our  young  friend  had  acquired  dur- 
ing his  minority  was  a  thorough  -  bred  filley,  and  he 
felt  certain  that  she — being  a  horse  of  the  first  fami- 
lies— would  be  able  to  "  lay  out "  anything  that  could 
be  brought  against  her.  He  was  very  anxious  about 
the  race,  and  therefore  rose  early,  and  went  out  into 
the  morning  light  that  he  might  look  at  his  mare,  and 
feel  of  her  perfect  legs>  to  make  sure  that  she  was  in 
good  condition. 

"All  right,  Dolly?"  he  said — "all  right  this  morn- 
ing, old  lady  ?  eh  ?  You'll  beat  all  the  scrubs  ;  won't 
you  ?" 

In  this  exhilarating  state  of  anxiety  and  expec- 
tation, Morton  came  to  breakfast,  only  to  have  his 
breath  taken  away.  His  mother  asked  him  to  ride  to 
meeting  with  her,  and  it  was  almost  as  hard  to  deny 
her  as  it  was  to  give  up  the  race  at  "The  Forks." 

Rough    associations    had    made    young   Goodwin   a 


34  THE  CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

rough  man.  His  was  a  nature  buoyant,  generous,  and 
complaisant,  very  likely  to  take  the  color  of  his  sur- 
roundings. The  catalogue  of  his  bad  habits  is  suffi- 
ciently shocking  to  us  who  live  in  this  better  day  of 
Sunday-school  morality.  He  often  swore  in  a  way 
that  might  have  edified  the  army  in  Flanders.  He 
spent  his  Sundays  in  hunting,  fishing,  and  riding  horse- 
races, except  when  he  was  needed  to  escort  his  moth- 
er to  meeting.  He  bet  on  cards,  and  I  am  afraid  he 
drank  to  intoxication  sometimes.  Though  he  was  too 
proud  and  manly  to  lie,  and  too  pure  to  be  unchaste, 
he  was  not  a  promising  young  man.  The  chances 
that  he  would  make  a  fairly  successful  trip  through 
life  did  not  preponderate  over  the  chances  that  he 
would  wreck  himself  by  intemperance  and  gambling 
But  his  roughness  was  strangely  veined  by  noble- 
ness. This  rude,  rollicking,  swearing  young  fellow 
had  a  chivalrous  loyalty  to  his  mother,  which  held 
him  always  ready  to  devote  himself  in  any  way  to  her 
service. 

On  her  part,  she  was,  indeed,  a  woman  worthy  of 
reverence.  Her  father  had  been  one  of  those  fine  old 
Irish  gentlemen,  with  grand  manners,  extravagant  hab- 
its, generous  impulses,  brilliant  wit,  a  ruddy  nose,  and 
final  bankruptcy.  His  daughter,  Jane  Morton,  had 
married  Job  Goodwin,  a  returned  soldier  of  the  Revo- 
lution—  a  man  who  was  "a  poor  manager."  He  lost 
his  patrimony,  and,  what  is  worse,  lost  heart.  Upon 
his  wife,  therefore,  had  devolved  heavy  burdens.  But 
her  face  was  yet  fresh,  and  her  hair,  even  when  an- 
chored back  to  a  great  tuck-comb,  showed  an  errant^ 


GOING    TO    MEETING.  35 

Irish  tendency  to  curl.  Morton's  hung  in  waves  about 
his  neck,  and  he  cherished  his  curls,  proud  of  the  re- 
semblance to  his  mother,  whom  he  considered  a  very 
queen,  to  be  served  right  royally. 

But  it  was  hard  —  when  he  had  been  training  the 
filley  from  a  colt — when  he  had  looked  forward  for 
months  to  this  race  as  a  time  of  triumph — to  have  so 
severe  a  strain  put  upon  his  devotion  to  his  mother. 
When  she  made  the  request,  he  did  not  reply.  He 
tfent  to  the  barn  and  stroked  the  filley 's  legs — how 
perfect  they  were! — and  gave  vent  to  some  very  old 
and  wicked  oaths.  He  was  just  making  up  his  mind 
to  throw  the  saddle  on  Dolly  and  be  off  to  the  Forks, 
when  his  decision  was  curiously  turned  by  a  word  from 
his  brother  Henry,  a  lad  of  twelve,  who  had  followed 
Morton  to  the  stable,  and  now  stood  in  the  door. 

"  Mort,"  said  he,  "  I'd  go  anyhow,  if  I  was  you. 
I  wouldn't  stand  it.  You  go  and  run  Doll,  and  lick 
Bill  Conkey's  bay  fer  him.  He'll  think  you're  afeard, 
ef  you  don't.  The  old  lady  hain't  got  no  right  to 
make  you  set  and  listen  to  old  Donaldson  on  sech  a 
purty  day  as  this." 

"Looky  here,  Hen!"  broke  out  Morton,  looking  up 
from  the  meditative  scratching  of  Dolly's  fetlocks, 
"  don't  you  talk  that  away  about  mother.  She's  every 
inch  a  lady,  and  it's  a  blamed  hard  life  she's  had  to 
foller,  between  pappy's  mopin'  and  the  girls  all  a-dyin* 
and  Lew's  bad  end  —  and  you  and  me  not  promisin* 
much  better.  It's  mighty  little  I  kin  do  to  make 
things  kind  of  easy  for  her,  and  I'll  go  to  meetin'  ev- 
ery day  in  the  week,  ef  she  says  so." 


RIDER. 


IN  THE  STABLE. 

"  She'll  make  a  Persbyterian  outen  you,  Mort ;  see 
ef  she  don't." 

"  Nary  Presbyterian.  They's  no  Presbyterian  in 
me.  I'm  a  hard  nut.  I  would  like  to  be  a  elder,  or 
a  minister,  if  it  was  in  me,  though,  just  to  see  the 
smile  spread  all  over  her  face  whenever  she'd  think 
about  it.  Looky  here,  Hen!  I'll  tell  you  something. 
Mother's  about  forty  times  too  good  for  us.  When  I 
had  the  scarlet  fever,  and  was  cross,  she  used  to  set 
on  the  side  of  the  bed,  and  tell  me  stories,  about 
knights  and  such  like,  that  she'd  read  about  in  grand- 
father's books  when  she  was  a  girl  —  jam  up  good 
stories,  too,  you  better  believe.  I  liked  the  knights, 


GOING    TO   MEETING  37 

y-^  * 

because  they  rode  fine  horses,  and  was  always  ready 
to  fight  anything  that  come  along,  but  always  fair  and 
square,  you  know.  And  she  told  me  how  the  knights 
fit  fer  their  religion,  and  fer  ladies,  and  fer  everybody  . 
that  had  got  tromped  down  by  somebody  else.  I 
wished  I'd  been  a  knight  myself.  I  'lowed  it  would  be 
some  to  fight  for  somebody  in  trouble,  or  somethin' 
good.  But  then  it  seemed  as  if  I  couldn't  find  noth- 
in*  worth  the  fightin'  fer  One  day  I  lay  a-thinkin', 
and  a-lookin'  at  mother's  white  lady  hands,  and  face 
fit  fer  a  queen's.  And  in  them  days  she  let  her  hair 
hang  down  in  long  curls,  and  her  black  eyes  was 
bright  like  as  if  they  had  a  light  inside  of  'em,  you 
know.  She  was  a  queen,  /  tell  you  !  And  all  at  wunst 
it  come  right  acrost  me,  like  a  flash,  that  I  mout  as 
well  be  mother's  knight  through  thick  and  thin ;  and 
I've  been  at  it  ever  since.  •  I  'low  I've  give  her  a 
sight  of  trouble,  with  my  plaguey  wild  ways,  and  I 
come  mighty  blamed  nigh  runnin'  this  mornin',  dogged 
ef  I  didn't.  But  here  goes." 

And  with  that  he  proceeded  to  saddle  the  restless 
Dolly,  while  Henry  put  the  side-saddle  on  old  Blaze, 
saying,  as  he  drew  the  surcingle  tight,  "  For  my  part, 
I  don't  want  to  fight  for  nobody.  I  want  to  do  as  I 
dog-on  please."  He  was  meditating  the  fun  he  would 
have  catching  a  certain  ground-hog,  when  once  his 
mother  should  be  safely  off  to  meeting. 

Morton  led  old  Blaze  up  to  the  stile  and  helped 
his  mother  to  mount,  gallantly  put  her  foot  in  the  stir- 
rup, arranged  her  long  riding-skirt,  and  then  mounted 
his  own  mare.  Dollv  sprang  forward  prancing  and 


38  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

W 

dashing,  and  chafing  against  the  bit  in  a  way  highly 
pleasing  to  Morton,  who  thought  that  going  to  meet- 
ing would  be  a  dull  affair,  if  it  were  not  for  the  fun  of 
letting  Dolly  know  who  was  her  master.  The  ride 
to  church  was  a  long  one,  for  there  had  never  been 
preaching  nearer  to  the  Hissawachee  settlement  than 
ten  miles  away.  Morton  found  the  sermon  rather 
more  interesting  than  usual.  There  still  lingered  in 
the  West  at  this  time  the  remains  of  the  controversy 

,,  between  "Old -side"  and  "New -side"  Presbyterians, 
that  dated  its  origin  before  the  Revolution.  Parson 
Donaldson  belonged  to  the  Old  side,  [with  square, 
combative  face,  and  hard,  combative  voice,  he  made 
war  upon  the  laxity  of  New -side  Presbyterians,  and 

.  the  grievous  heresies  of  the  Arminians,  and  in  partic- 
ular upon  the  exciting  meetings  of  the  Methodists. 
The  great  Cane  Ridge  Camp-meeting  was  yet  fresh  in 
the  memories  of  the  people,  and  for  the  hundredth 
time  Mr.  Donaldson  inveighed  against  the  Presbyte- 
rian ministers  who  had  originated  this  first  of  camp- 
meetings,  and  set  agoing  the  wild  excitements  now 
fostered  by  the  Methodists.  He  said  that  Presbyte* 
rians  who  had  anything  to  do  with  this  fanaticism 
were  led  astray  of  the  devil,  and  the  Synod  did  right 
in  driving  some  of  them  out.  As  for  Methodists,  they 
denied  "the  Decrees."  What  was  that  but  a  denial 
of  salvation  by  grace  ?  And  this  involved  the  over- 
throw  of  the  great  Protestant  doctrine  of  Justification 
by  Faith.  This  is  rather  the  mental  process  by  which 
the  parson  landed  himself  at  his  conclusions,  than  his 
way  of  stating  them  to  his  hearers.  In  preaching,  he 


GOING    TO   MEETING.  39 

did  not  find  it  necessary  to  say  that  a  denial  of  the 
decrees  logically  involved  the  rest.  He  translated  his 
conclusions  into  a  statement  of  fact,  and  boldly  assert- 
ed that  these  crazy,  illiterate,  noisy,  vagabond  circuit 
riders  were  traitors  to  Protestantism,  denying  the  doc- 
trine of  Justification,  and  teaching  salvation  by  the 
merit  of  works.  There  were  many  divines,  on  both 
sides,  in  that  day  who  thought  zeal  for  their  creed  jus- 
tified any  amount  of  unfairness.  (But  all  that  is  past !) 

Morton's  combativeness  was  greatly  tickled  by  this 
discourse,  and  when  they  were  again  in  the  saddle  to 
ride  the  ten  miles  home,  he  assured  his  mother  that 
he  wouldn't  mind  coming  to  meeting  often,  rain  01 
shine,  if  the  preacher  would  only  pitch  into  somebody 
every  time.  He  thought  it  wouldn't  be  hard  to  be 
good,  if  a  body  could  only  have  something  bad  to 
fight.  "Don't  you  remember,  mother,  how  you  used 
to  read  to  me  out  of  that  old  "  Pilgrim's  Progress," 
and  show  me  the  picture  of  Christian  thrashing  Apollyon 
till  his  hide  wouldn't  hold  shucks?  1  If  I  could  fight 
the  devil  that  way,  I  wouldn't  mind  being  a  Christian." 

Morton  felt  especially  pleased  with  the  minister  to- 
day, for  Mr.  Donaldson  delighted  to  have  the  young 
men  come  so  far  to  meeting;  and  imagining  that  he 
might  be  in  a  "  hopeful  state  of  mind,"  had  hospitably 
urged  Morton  and  his  mother  to  take  some  refresh- 
ment before  starting  on  their  homeward  journey.  It 
is  barely  possible  that  the  stimulus  of  the  good  par- 
son's cherry -bounce  had  quite  as  much  to  do  with 
Morton's  valiant  impulses  as  the  stirring  effect  of  hit 
discourse. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

A     BATTLE. 

'  I  ""HE  fight  so  much  desired  by  Morton  came  soon 
I.      enough. 

As  he  and  his  mother  rode  home  by  a  "  near  cut," 
little  traveled,  Morton  found  time  to  master  Dolly's 
fiery  spirit  and  yet  to  scan  the  woods  with  the  habit- 
ual searching  glance  of  a  hunter.  He  observed  on 
one  of  the  trees  a  notice  posted.  A  notice  put  up  in 
this  out-of-the-way  place  surprised  him.  He  endeav- 
ored to  make  his  restless  steed  approach  the  tree,  that 
he  might  read,  but  her  wild  Arabian  temper  took  fright 
at  something — a  blooded  horse  is  apt  to  see  visions — 
and  she  would  not  stand  near  the  tree.  Time  alter 
time  Morton  drove  her  forward,  but  she  as  often  shied 
away.  At  last,  Mrs.  Goodwin  begged  him  to  give  over 
the  attempt  and  come  on ;  but  Morton's  love  of  mas- 
tery was  now  excited,  and  he  said, 

"  Ride  on,  mother,  if  you  want  to ;  this  question  be- 
tween Dolly  and  me  will  have  to  be  discussed  and 
settled  right  here.  Either  she  will  stand  still  by  this 
sugar-tree,  or  we  will  fight  away  till  one  or  t'other  lays 
down  to  rest." 

The  mother  contented  herself  with  letting  old  Blaze 
browse  by  the  road-side,  and  with  shaping  her  thoughts 
into  a  formal  regret  that  Morton  should  spend  the 
holy  Sabbath  in  such  fashion ;  but  in  her  maternal 


A    BATTLE.  41 

heart  she  admired  his  will  and  courage.  He  was  so 
like  her  own  father,  she  thought  —  such  a  gentleman! 
And  she  could  not  but  hope  that  he  was  one  of  God's 
el^ect.  If  so,  what  a  fine  Christian  he  would  be  when 
he  should  be  converted !  And,  quiet  as  she  was  with- 
out, her  heart  was  in  a  moment  filled  with  agony  and 
prayer  and  questionings.  How  could  she  live  in  heav- 
en without  Morton  ?  Her  eldest  son  had  already  died 
a  violent  death  in  prodigal  wanderings  from  home. 
But-^f  orlqn  jwoulcL  surely  be  saved ! 

Morten,  for  his  part,  cared  at  the  moment  far  less 
for  anything  in  heaven  than  he  did  to  master  the  re- 
bellious Dolly.  He  rode  her  all  round  the  tree;  he 
circled  that  maple,  first  in  one  direction,  then  in  an- 
other, until  the  mare  was  so  dizzy  she  could  hardly 
see.  Then  he  held  her  while  he  read  the  notice,  say- 
?ng  with  exultation,  "  Now,  my  lady,  do  you  think  you 
can  stand  still?" 

Beyond  a  momentary  impulse  of  idle  curiosity,  Mor- 
ton had  not  cared  to  know  the  contents  of  the  paper. 
Even  curiosity  had  been  forgotten  in  his  combat  with 
Dolly  But  as  soon  as  he  saw  the  signature,  "  Enoch 
Lumsden,  administrator  of  the  estate  of  Hezekiah 
Lumsden,  deceased,"  he  forgot  his  victory  over  his 
horse  in  hi'j  interest  in  the  document  itself.  It  was 
therein  set  forth  that,  by  order  of  the  probate  court  in 
and  for  the  county  aforesaid,  the  said  Enoch  Lums- 
den, administrator,  would  sell  at  public  auction  all  that 
parcel  of  land  belonging  to  the  estate  of  the  said 
Hezekiah  Lumsden,  deceased,  known  and  described  aa 
follows,  to  wit,  namely,  etc.,  etc. 


42  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

"By  thunder!"  broke  out  Morton,  angrily,  as  he  rock 
away  (I  am  afraid  he  swore  by  thunder  instead  of  by 
something  else,  out  of  a  filial  regard  for  his  mother). 
"  By  thunder !  if  that  ain't  too  devilish  mean !  I 
s'pose  'tain't  enough  for  Captain  Lumsden  to  mistreat 
little  Kike — he  has  gone  to  robbing  him.  He  means 
to  buy  that  land  himself;  or,  what's  the  same  thing, 
git  somebody  to  do  it  for  him.  That's  what  he  put 
that  notice  in  this  holler  fer.  The  judge  is  afraid  of 
him;  and  so's  everybody  else.  Poor  Kike  won't  have 
a  dollar  when  he's  a  man." 

"  Somebody  ought  to  take  Kike's  part,"  said  Mrs. 
Goodwin.  "  It's  a  shame  for  a  whole  settlement  to  be 
cowards,  and  to  let  one  man  rule  them.  It's  worse 
than  having  a  king." 

Morton  loved  "Little  Kike,"  and  hated  Captain 
Lumsden;  and  this  appeal  to  the  anti-monarchic  feel- 
ing of  the  time  moved  him.  He  could  not  bear  that 
his  mother,  of  all,  should  think  him  cowardly.  His 
pride  was  already  chafed  by  Lumsden's  condescension, 
and  his  provoking  way  of  keeping  Patty  and  himself 
apart.  Why  should  he  not  break  with  him,  and  have 
done  with  it,  rather  than  stand  by  and  see  Kike  rob- 
bed ?  But  to  interfere  in  behalf  of  Kike  was  to  put 
Patty  Lumsden  farther  away  from  him.  He  was  a 
knight  who  had  suddenly  come  in  sight  of  his  long 
sought  adversary  while  his  own  hands  were  tied.  And 
so  he  fell  into  the  brownest  of  studies,  and  scarcely 
spoke  a  word  to  his  mother  all  the  rest  of  his  ride. 
For  here  were  his  friendship  for  little  Kike,  his  in- 
nate antagonism  to  Captain  Lumsden,  and  his  strong 


A    BATTLE  .43 

sense  of  justice,  on  one  side ;  his  love  for  Patty — 
stronger  than  all  the  rest — on  the  other.  In  the  stories 
of  chivalry  which  his  mother  had  told,  the  love  of 
woman  had  always  been  a  motive  to  valiant  deeds  for 
the  right.  And  how  often  had  he  dreamed  of  doing 
some  brave  thing  while  Patty  applauded  !  Now,  when 
the  brave  thing  offered,  Patty  was  on  the  other  side. 
This  unexpected  entanglement  of  motives  irritated  him, 
as  such  embarrassment  always  does  a  person  disposed 
to  act  impulsively  and  in  right  lines.  And  so  it  hap- 
pened that  he  rode  on  in  moody  silence,  while  the 
mother,  always  looking  for  signs  of  seriousness  in  the 
son,  mentally  reviewed  the  sermon  of  the  day,  in  vain 
endeavor  to  recall  some  passages  that  might  have 
"  found  a  lodgment  in  his  mind." 

Had  the  issue  been  squarely  presented  to  Morton, 
he  might  even  then  have  chosen  Patty,  letting  the  in- 
terests of  his  friends  take  care  of  themselves.  But  he 
did  not  decide  it  squarely.  He  began  by  excusing 
himself  to  himself : — What  could  he  do  for  Kike  ?  He 
had  no  influence  with  the  judge ;  he  had  no  money  to 
buy  the  land,  and  he  had  no  influential  friends.  He 
might  agitate  the  question  and  sacrifice  his  own  hope, 
and,  after  all,  accomplish  nothing  for  Kike.  No  doubt 
all  these  considerations  of  futility  had  their  weight 
with  him ;  nevertheless  he  had  an  angry  consciousness 
that  he  was  not  acting  bravely  in  the  matter.  That 
he,  Morton  Goodwin,  who  had  often  vowed  that  he 
would  not  truckle  to  any  man,  was  ready  to  shut  his 
eyes  to  Captain  Lumsden's  rascality,  in  the  hope  of 
one  day  getting  his  consent  to  marry  his  daughter! 


44  THE    CIRCUIT   RIDER. 

It  was  this  anger  with  himself  that  made  Morton  rest* 


MORT,  DOLLY,  AND  KIKE. 

•less,  and  his  restlessness  took  him  down  to  the  Forks 
that  Sunday  evening,  and  led  him  to  drink  two  or 
three  times,  in  spite  of  his  good  resolution  not  to  drink 
more  than  once.  It  was  this  restlessness  that  carried 
him  at  last  to  the  cabin  of  the  widow  Lumsden,  that 
evening,  to  see  her  son  Kike. 

Kike  was  sixteen ;  one  of  those  sallow-skinned  boys 
with  straight  black  hair  that  one  sees  so  often  in  south- 
ern latitudes.  He  was  called  "Little  Kike"  only  to 


A   BATTLE.  45 

distinguish  him  from  his  father,  who  had  <tiso  borne 
the  name  of  Hezekiah.  Delicate  in  health  and  quiet 
in  manner,  he  was  a  boy  of  profound  feeling,  and  his 
emotions  were  not  only  profound  but  persistent.  Dress- 
ed in  buck-skin  breeches  and  homespun  cotton  over- 
shirt,  he  was  milking  old  Molly  when  Morton  came 
up.  The  fixed  lines  of  his  half -melancholy  face  re- 
laxed a  little,  as  with  a  smile  deeper  than  it  was  broad 
he  lifted  himself  up  and  said, 

"Hello,  Mort!   come  in,  old  feller!" 

But  Mort  only  sat  still  on  Dolly,  while  Kike  came 
round  and  stroked  her  fine  neck,  and  expressed  his  re- 
gret that  she  hadn't  run  at  the  Forks  and  beat  Bill 
McConkey's  bay  horse.  He  wished  he  owned  such  "  a 
beast." 

"  Never  mind ;  one  of  these  days,  when  I  get  a  lit- 
tle stronger,  I  will  open  that  crick  bottom,  and  then  I 
shall  make  some  money  and  be  able  to  buy  a  blooded 
horse  like  Dolly.  Maybe  it'll  be  a  colt  of  Dolly's; 
who  knows?"  And  Kike  smiled  with  a  half-hopeful- 
ness at  the  vision  of  his  impending  prosperity.  But 
Morton  could  not  smile,  nor  could  he  bear  to  tell 
Kike  that  his  uncle  had  determined  to  seize  upon  that 
very  piece  of  land  regardless  of  the  air -castles  Kike 
had  built  upon  it.  Morton  had  made  up  his  mind  not 
to  tell  Kike.  Why  should  he?  Kike  would  hear  of 
his  uncle's  fraud  in  time,  and  any  mention  on  his  part 
would  only  destroy  his  own  hopes  without  doing  any- 
thing for  Kike.  But  if  Morton  meant  to  be  prudent 
and  keep  silence,  why  had  he  not  staid  at  home  ? 
Why  come  here,  where  the  sight  of  Kike's  slender 


46  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

frame  was  a  constant  provocation  to  speech  ?  Was 
there  a  self  contending  against  a  self? 

"  Have  you  got  over  your  chills  yet  ?"  asked  Morton. 

"  No,"  said  the  black-haired  boy,  a  little  bitterly. 
"  I  was  nearly  well  when  I  went  down  to  Uncle 
Enoch's  to  work ;  and  he  made  me  work  in  the  rain. 
'  Come,  Kike/  he  would  say,  jerking  his  words,  and 
throwing  them  at  me  like  gravel,  c  get  out  in  the  rain. 
It'll  do  you  good.  Your  mother  has  ruined  you,  keep- 
ing you  over  the  fire.  You  want  hardening.  Rain  is 
good  for  you,  water  makes  you  grow ;  you're  a  perfect 
baby.'  I  tell  you,  he  come  plaguey  nigh  puttin'  a  fin- 
ishment  to  me,  though." 

Doubtless,  what  Morton  had  drunk  at  the  Forks 
had  not  increased  his  prudence.  As  usual  in  such 
cases,  the  prudent  Morton  and  the  impulsive  Morton 
stood  the  one  over  against  the  other ;  and,  as  always 
the  imprudent  self  is  prone  to  spring  up  without  warn- 
ing, and  take  the  other  by  surprise,  so  now  the  young 
man  suddenly  threw  prudence  and  Patty  behind,  and 
broke  out  with — 

"Your  uncle  Enoch  is  a  rascal!"  adding  some  male- 
dictions for  emphasis. 

That  was  not  exactly  telling  what  he  had  resolved 
not  to  tell,  but  it  rendered  it  much  more  difficult  to 
keep  the  secret;  for  Kike  grew  a  little  red  in  the  face, 
and  was  silent  a  minute.  He  himself  was  fond  of 
roundly  denouncing  his  uncle.  But  abusing  one's  re- 
lations is  a  luxury  which  is  labeled  "strictly  private," 
and  this  savage  outburst  from  his  friend  touched  Kike's 
family  pride  a  little. 


A    BATTLE.  .        47 

"I  know  that  as  well  as  you  do,"  was  all  he  said, 
however. 

"  He  would  swindle  his  own  children,"  said  Mor- 
ton, spurred  to  greater  vehemence  by  Kike's  evident 
disrelish  of  his  invective.  "  He  will  chisel  you  out  of 
everything  you've  got  before  you're  of  age,  and  then 
make  the  settlement  too  hot  to  hold  you  if  you  shake 
your  head."  And  Morton  looked  off  down  the  road. 

"What's  the  matter,  Mort?  What  set  you  off  on 
Uncle  Nuck  to-night  ?  He's  bad  enough,  Lord  knows ; 
but  something  must  have  gone  wrong  with  you.  Did 
he  tell  you  that  he  did  not  want  you  to  talk  to  Patty  ?" 

"  No,  he  didn't,"  said  Morton.  And  now  that  Patty 
was  recalled  to  his  mind,  he  was  vexed  to  think  that 
he  had  gone  so  far  in  the  matter.  His  tone  provoked 
Kike  in  turn. 

"  Mort,  you've  been  drinking !  What  brought  you 
down  here  ?" 

Here  the  imprudent  Morton  got  the  upper  hand 
again.  Patty  and  prudence  were  out  of  sight  at  once, 
and  the  young  man  swore  between  his  teeth. 

"Come,  old  fellow;  there's  something  wrong,"  said 
Kike,  alarmed.  "What's  up?" 

"  Nothing ;  nothing,"  said  Morton,  bitterly.  "  Noth- 
ing, only  your  affectionate  uncle  has  stuck  a  notice  in 
Jackson's  holler — on  the  side  of  the  tree  furthest  from 
the  road  —  advertising  your  crick  bottom  for  sale. 
That's  all.  Old  Virginia  gentleman !  Old  Virginia 
devil !  Call  a  horse-thief  a  parson,  will  you  ?"  And 
then  he  added  something  about  hell  and  damnation. 
These  two  last  words  had  no  grammatical  relation 


48  THE  CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

with  the  rest  of  his  speech ;  but  in  the  mind  of  Mor« 
ton  Goodwin  they  had  very  logical  relations  with  Cap- 
tain Lumsden  and  the  subject  under  discussion.  (^No- 
body  is  quite  a  Universalist  in  moments  of  indigna- 
tion. Every  man  keeps  a  private  and  select  perdition 
for  the  objects  of  his  wrath.  \ 

When  Morton  had  thus  let  out  the  secret  he  had 
meant  to  retain,  Kike  trembled  and  grew  white  about 
the  lips.  "I'll  never  forgive  him,"  he  said,  huskily. 
"  I'll  be  even  with  him,  and  one  to  carry ;  see  if  I 
ain't!"  He  spoke  with  that  slow,  revengeful,  relentless 
air  that  belongs  to  a  black-haired,  Southern  race. 

"Mort,  loan  me  Doll  to-morry?"  he  said,  presently. 

"  Can  you  ride  her  ?  Where  are  you  going  ?"  Mor- 
ton was  loth  to  commit  himself  by  lending  his  horse. 

"  I  am  going  to  Jonesville,  to  see  if  I  can  stop  that 
sale ;  and  I've  got  a  right  to  choose  a  gardeen.  I 
mean  to  take  one  that  will  make  Uncle  Enoch  open 
his  eyes.  I'm  goin' to  take  Colonel  Wheeler ;  he  hates 
Uncle  Enoch,  and  he'll  see  jestice  done.  As  for  ridin' 
Dolly,  you  know  I  can  back  any  critter  with  four  legs." 

"Well,  I  guess  you  can  have  Dolly,"  said  Morton, 
reluctantly.  He  knew  that  if  Kike  rode  Dolly,  the 
Captain  would  hear  of  it;  and  then,  farewell  to  Patty! 
But  looking  at  Kike's  face,  so  full  of  pain  and  wrath, 
ho  could  not  quite  refuse.  Dolly  went  home  at  a  tre- 
mendous pace,  and  Morton,  commonly  full  of  good  na» 
ture,  was,  for  once,  insufferably  cross  at  supper-time. 

"  Mort,  meetin'  must  'a'  soured  on  you,"  said  Hen- 
ry,  provokingly.  "You're  cross  as  a  coon  when  its 
cornered." 


49 

"  Don't  fret  Morton ;  he's  worried,"  said  Mrs.  Good- 
win. The  fond  mother  still  hoped  that  the  struggle 
in  his  mind  was  the  great  battle  of  Armageddon  that 
should  be  the  beginning  of  a  better  life. 

Morton  went  to  his  bed  in  the  loft  rilled  with  a  con- 
tempt for  himself.  He  tried  in  vain  to  acquit  himself 
of  cowardice — the  quality  which  a  border  man  consid- 
ers the  most  criminal.  Early  in  the  morning  he  fed 
Dolly,  and  got  her  ready  for  Kike  ;  but  no  Kike  came. 
After  a  while,  he  saw  some  one  ascending  the  hill  on 
the  other  side  of  the  creek.  Could  it  be  Kike  ?  Was 
he  going  to  walk  to  Jonesville,  twenty  miles  away  ? 
And  with  his  ague-shaken  body  ?  How  roundly  Mor- 
ton cursed  himself  for  the  fear  that  made  him  half  re- 
fuse the  horse !  For,  with  one  so  sensitive  as  Kike,  a 
half  refusal  was  equivalent  to  the  most  positive  denial. 
It  was  not  too  late.  Morton  threw  the  saddle  and 
bridle  on  Dolly,  and  mounted.  Dolly  sprang  forward, 
throwing  her  heels  saucily  in  the  air,  and  in  fifteen 
minutes  Morton  rode  up  alongside  Kike. 

"  Here,  Kike,  you  don't  escape  that  way !  Take 
Dolly." 

"  No,  I  won't,  Morton.  I  oughtn't  to  have  axed  you 
to  let  me  have  her.  I  know  how  you  feel  about  Patty." 

"Confound — no,  I  won't  say  confound  Patty — but 
confound  me,  if  I'm  mean  enough  to  let  you  walk  to 
Jonesville.  I  was  a  devlish  coward  yesterday.  Here, 
take  the  horse,  dog  on  you,  or  I'll  thrash  you,"  and 
Morton  laughed. 

"I  tell  you,  Mort,  I  won't  do  it,"  said  Kike,  "I'm 
goin'  to  walk." 


50  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

"Yes,  you  look  like  it!  You'll  die  before  you  git 
half-way,  you  blamed  little  fool  you !  If  you  won't 
take  Dolly,  then  I'll  go  along  to  bury  your  bones. 
They's  no  danger  of  the  buzzard's  picking  such  bones, 
though." 

Just  then  came  by  Jake  Sniger,  who  was  remarka- 
ble  for  his  servility  to  Lumsden. 

"Hello,  boys,  which  ways?"  he  asked. 

"  No  ways  jest  now,"  said  Morton. 

"Are  you  a  traveling  or  only  a  goin'  some  place?" 
asked  Sniger,  smiling. 

"  I  'low  I'm  traveling  and  Kike's  a  goin'  some  place," 
;aid  Morton. 

When  Sniger  had  gone  on,  Morton  said,  "  Now 
Kike,  the  fat's  all  in  the  fire.  When  the  Captain  finds 
out  what  you've  done,  Sniger  is  sure  to  tell  that  he 
Bee  us  together.  I've  got  to  fight  it  out  now  anyhow, 
and  you've  got  to  take  Dolly." 

"No,  Morton,  I  can't." 

If  Kike  had  been  any^less  obstinate  the  weakness 
of  his  knees  would  have  persuaded  him  to  relent. 

"Well,  hold  Dolly  a  minute  for  me,  anyhow,"  said 
Morton,  dismounting.  As  soon  as  Kike  had  obligingly 
taken  hold  of  the  bridle,  Morton  started  toward  home, 
singing  Burns's  "  Highland  Mary "  at  the  top  of  his 
rich,  melodious  voice,  never  looking  back  at  Kike  till 
he  had  finished  the  song,  and  reached  the  summit  of 
the  hill.  Then  he  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  Kike 
in  the  saddle,  laughing  to  think  how  his  friend  had 
outwitted  him.  Morton  waved  his  hat  heartily,  and 
Kike,  nodding  his  head,  gave  Dolly  the  rein,  and  she 


A    BATTLE. 


51 


plunged  forward,  carrying  him  out  of  sight  in  a  few  min- 
utes. Morton's  mother  was  disappointed,  when  he  came 
in  late  to  breakfast,  to  see  that  bis  brow  was  clear.  She 
feared  that  the  good  impressions  of  the  day  before  had 
worn  away.  How  little  does  one  know  of  the  real  na- 


GOOD-BYE  ! 

iure  of  the  struggle  between  God  and  the  devil,  in  the 
heart  of  another!  But  long  before  Kike  had  brought 
Dolly  back  to  her  stall,  the  exhilaration  of  self-sacrifice 
in  the  mind  of  Morton  had  worn  away,  and  the  possi- 
ble consequences  ui  his  action  made  him  uncomfortable. 


CHAPTER   K 

A  cRisrs, 

WORK,  Morton  could  not.  After  his  noonday  din* 
ner  he  lifted  his  flint- lock  gin  f"om  th?  forked 
sticks  upon  the  wall  where  it  was  laid,  and  set  out  to 
seek  for  deer, — rather  to  seek  forgetfulness  of  the  anx- 
iety that  preyed  upon  him.  Excitement  was  almost  a 
necessity  with  him,  even  at  ordinary  times ;  now,  it 
seemed  the  only  remedy  for  his  depression.  But  in- 
stead of  forgetting  Patty,  he  forgot  everything  but 
Patty,  and  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  found  it 
,;!  impossible  to  absorb  himself  in  hunting.  For  when  a 
•\  frontierman  loves,  he  loves  with  his  whole  nature. 
*  The  interests  of  his  life  are  few,  and  love,  having  un- 
disputed sway,  becomes  a  consuming  passion.  After 
two  hours'  walking  through  the  unbroken  forest  he 
started  a  deer,  but  did  not  see  it  in  time  to  shoot. 
He  had  tramped  through  the  brush  without  caution  or 
vigilance.  He  now  saw  that  it  would  be  of  no  avail 
to  keep  up  this  mockery  of  hunting.  He  was  seized 
with  an  eager  desire  to  see  Patty,  and  talk  with  her 
once  more  before  the  door  should  be  closed  against 
him.  He  might  strike  the  trail,  and  reach  the  settle- 
ment in  an  hour,  arriving  at  Lumsden's  while  yet  the 
Captain  was  away  from  the  house.  His  only  chance 
was  to  see  her  in  the  absence  of  her  father,  who  would 
surely  contrive  some  interruption  if  he  were  present 


A    CRISIS.  53 

So  eagerly  did  Morton  travel,  that  when  his  return 
was  about  half  accomplished  he  ran  headlong  into  the 
very  midst  of  a  flock  of  wild  turkeys.  They  ran 
swiftly  away  in  two  or  three  directions,  but  not  until 
the  two  barrels  of  Morton's  gun  had  brought  down 
two  glossy  young  gobblers.  Tying  their  legs  together 
with  a  strip  of  paw -paw  bark,  he  slung  them  across 
his  gun,  and  laid  his  gun  over  his  shoulder,  pleased 
that  he  would  not  have  to  go  home  quite  empty- 
handed. 

As  he  steps  into  Captain  Lumsden's  yard  that  Au- 
tumn afternoon,  he  is  such  a  man  as  one  likes  to  see : 
quite  six  feet  high,  well  made,  broad,  but  not  too 
broad,  about  the  shoulders,  with  legs  whose  litheness 
indicate  the  reserve  force  of  muscle  and  nerve  coiled 
away  somewhere  for  an  emergency.  His  walk  is  di- 
rect, elastic,  unflagging;  he  is  like  his  horse,  a  clean 
stepper ;  there  is  neither  slouchiness,  timidity,  nor  craft- 
iness in  his  gait.  The  legs  are  as  much  a  test  of 
character  as  the  face,  and  in  both  one  can  read  reso- 
lute eagerness.  His  forehead  is  high  rather  than 
broad,  his  blue  eye  and  curly  hair,  and  a  certain  sweet- 
ness and  dignity  in  his  smile,  are  from  his  Scotch- 
Irish  mother.  \His  picturesque  coon-skin  cap  gives  him 
the  look  of  a  hunter.  The  homespun  "hunting  shirt" 
hangs  outside  his  buckskin  breeches,  and  these  termi- 
nate below  inside  his  rawhide  boots. 

The  great  yellow  dog,  Watch,  knows  him  well 
enough  by-  this  time,  but,  like  a  policeman  on  duty, 
Watch  is  quite  unwilling  to  seem  to  neglect  his  func- 
tion; and  so  he  bristles  up  a  little,  meets  Morton  at 


54  THE   CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

the  gate,  and  snuffs  at  his  cowhide  boots  with  an  aii 
of  surly  vigilance.  The  young  man  hails  him  with  a 
friendly  "Hello,  Watch!"  and  the  old  fellow  smooths 
his  back  hair  a  little,  and  gives  his  clumsy  bobbed 
ril  three  solemn  little  wags  of  recognition,  comical 
'  hough  if  Goodwin  were  only  in  a  mood  to  observe. 

Morton  hears  the  hum  of  the  spinning-wheel  in  the 
old  cabin  portion  of  the  building,  used  for  a  kitchen 
and  loom-room.  The  monotonous  rise  and  fall  of  the 
wheel's  tune,  now  buzzing  gently,  then  louder  and 
iouder  till  its  whirr  could  be  heard  a  furlong,  then 
slacking,  then  stopping  abruptly,  then  rising  to  a  new 
climax  —  this  cadenced  hum,  as  he  hears  it,  is  made 
rhythmical  by  the  tread  of  feet  that  run  back  across 
the  room  after  each  climax  of  sound.  He  knows  the 
quick,  elastic  step ;  he  turns  away  from  the  straight- 
ahead  entrance  to  the  house,  and  passes  round  to  the 
kitchen  door.  It  is  Patty,  as  he  thought,  and,  as  his 
shadow  falls  in  at  the  door,  she  is  in  the  very  act  of 
jrging  the  wheel  to  it  highest  impetus ;  she  whirls  it 
till  it  roars,  and  at  „  the  same  time  nods  merrily  at 
Morton  over  the  top  of  it ;  then  she  trips  back  across 
the  room,  drawing  the  yarn  with  her  left  hand,  which 
she  holds  stretched  out ;  when  the  impulse  is  some- 
what spent,  and  the  yarn  sufficiently  twisted,  Patty 
catches  the  wheel,  winds  the  yarn  upon  the  spindle, 
and  turns  to  the  door.  She  changes  her  spinning  stick 
to  the  left  hand,  and  extends  her  right  with  a  genial 
"  Howdy,  Morton  ?  killed  some  turkeys,  I  see." 
"  Yes,  one  for  you  and  one  for  mother." 
"For  me?  much  obliged!  come  in  and  take  a  chair." 


A    CRISIS.  55 

"  No,  this'll  do,"  and  Morton  sat  upon  the  door- 
sill,  doffing  his  coon-skin  cap,  and  wiping  his  forehead 
with  his  red  handkerchief.  "  Go  on  with  your  spinning, 
Patty,  I  like  to  see  you  spin." 

"Well,  I  will.  I  mean  to  spin  two  dozen  cuts  to- 
day. I've  been  at  it  since  five  o'clock." 

Morton  was  glad,  indeed,  to  have  her  spin.  He 
was,  in  his  present  perplexed  state,  willing  to  avoid  all 
conversation  except  such  broken  talk  as  might  be  car- 
ried on  while  Patty  wound  the  spun  yarn  upon  the 
spindle,  or  adjusted  a  new  roll  of  wool. 

Nothing  shows  off  the  grace  of  the  female  figure 
as  did  the  old  spinning-wheel.  Patty's  perfect  form 
was  disfigured  by  no  stays,  or  pads,  or  paniers — her 
swift  tread  backwards  with  her  up-raised  left  hand,  her 
movement  of  the  wheel  with  the  right,  all  kept  her 
agile  figure  in  lithe  action.  If  plastic  art  were  not  an 
impossibility  to  us  Americans,  our  stone-cutters  might 
long  since  have  ceased,  like  school-boys,  to  send  us 
back  from  Rome  imitation  Venuses,  and  counterfeit 
Hebes,  and  lank  Lincolns  aping  Roman  senators,  and 
stagey  Washingtons  on  stage-horses;  —  they  would  by 
this  time  have  found  out  that  in  our  primitive  life 
/here  are  subjects  enough,  and  that  in  mythology  and 
heroics  we  must  ever  be  dead  copyists.  But  I  do  not 
believe  Morton  was  thinking  of  art  at  all,  as  he  sat 
there  in  the  October  evening  sun  and  watched  the  little 
feet,  yet  full  of  unexhausted  energy  after  traveling  to 
and  fro  all  day.  He  did  not  know,  or  care,  that  Patty, 
with  her  head  thrown  back  and  her  left  arm  half  out- 
stretched to  guide  her  thread,  was  a  glorious  subject 


56  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

for  a  statue.  He  had  never  seen  marble,  and  had 
never  heard  of  statues  except  in  the  talk  of  the  old 
schoolmaster.  How  should  he  think  to  call  her  statu- 
esque ?  Or  how  should  he  know  that  the  wide  old 
log-kitchen,  with  its  loom  in  one  corner,  its  vast  fire- 
place, wherein  sit  the  two  huge,  black  andirons,  and 
wherein  swings  an  iron  crane  on  which  hang  pot- 
hooks with  iron  pots  depending — the  old  kitchen,  with 
its  bark -covered  joists  high  overhead,  from  which  are 
festooned  strings  of  drying  pumpkins  —  how  should 
Morton  Goodwin  know  that  this  wide  old  kitchen, 
with  its  rare  centre-piece  of  a  fine -featured,  fresh- 
hearted  young  girl  straining  every  nerve  to  spin  two 
dozen  cuts  of  yarn  in  a  day,  would  make  a  genre 
piece,  the  subject  of  which  would  be  good  enough  for 
one  of  the  old  Dutch  masters  ?  He  could  not  know 
all  this,  but  he  did  know,  as  he  watched  the  feet 
treading  swiftly  and  rhythmically  back  and  forth,  and 
as  he  saw  the  fine  face,  ruddy  with  the  vigorous  exer- 
cise, looking  at  him  over  the  top  of  a  whirling  wheel 
whose  spokes  were  invisible  —  he  did  know  that  Patty, 
Lumsden  was  a  little  higher  than  angels,  and  he  shud- 
dered when  he  remembered  that  to-morrow,  and  indefi- 
nitely afterward,  he  might  be  shut  out  from  her  fa- 
ther's house. 

It  was  while  he  sat  thus  and  listened  to  Patty's, 
broken  patches  of  sprightly  talk  and  the  monotonous 
symphony  of  her  wheel,  that  Captain  Lumsden  came 
into  the  yard,  snapping  his  rawhide  whip  against  his 
boots,  and  walking,  in  his  eager,  jerky  fashion,  around 
to  the  kitchen  door. 


A    CRISIS.  57 

"Hello,  Morton!  here,  eh?  Been  hunting?  This 
don't  pay.  A  young  man  that  is  going  to  get  on  in 
the  world  oughtn't  to  set  here  in  the  sunshine  talking 
to  the  girls.  Leave  that  for  nights  and  Sundays.  I'm 
afeard  you  won't  get  on  if  you  don't  work  early  and 
late.  Eh?"  And  the  captain  chuckled  his  hard  little 
laugh. 

Morton  felt  all  the  pleasure  of  the  glorious  after- 
noon vanish,  as  he  rose  to  go.  He  laid  the  turkey 
destined  for  Patty  inside  the  door,  took  up  the  other, 
and  was  about  to  leave.  Meantime  the  captain  had 
lifted  the  white  gourd  at  the  well-curb,  to  satisfy  his 
thirst. 

"I  saw  Kike  just  now,"  he  said,  in  a  fragmentary 
way,  between  his  sips  of  water — and  Morton  felt  his 
face  color  at  the  first  mention  of  Kike.  "  I  saw  Kike 
crossing  the  creek  on  your  mare.  You  oughtn't  to  let 
him  ride  her;  she'll  break  his  fool  neck  yet.  Here 
comes  Kike  himself.  I  wonder  where  he's  been  to?" 

Morton  saw,  in  the  fixed  look  of  Kike's  eyes,  as  he 
opened  the  gate,  evidence  of  deep  passion ;  but  Cap- 
tain Enoch  Lumsden  was  not  looking  for  anything  re- 
markable about  Kike,  and  he  was  accustomed  to  treat 
him  with  peculiar  indignity  because  he  was  a  relative. 

"  Hello,  Kike !"  he  said,  as  his  nephew  approached, 
while  Watch  faithfully  sniffed  at  his  heels,  "  where Ve 
you  lieen  cavorting  on  that  filley  to-day?  I  told  Mort 
he  was  a  fool  to  let  a  snipe  like  you  ride  that  she~ 
devil.  She'll  break  your  blamed  neck  some  day,  and 
then  there'll  be  one  fool  less."  And  the  captain 
chuckled  triumphantly  at  the  wit  in  his  way  of  putting 


58  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

the  thing.  "  Don't  kick  the  dog !  What  an  ill-natured 
ground-hog  you  air!  If  I  had  the  training  of  you,  I'd 
take  some  of  that  out." 

"  You  haven't  got  the  training  of  me,  and  you  nev- 
er will  have." 

Kike's  face  was  livid,  and  his  voice  almost  in- 
audible. 

"  Come,  come,  don't  be  impudent,  young  man," 
chuckled  Captain  Lumsden. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  call  impudence,"  said 
Kike,  stretching  his  slender  frame  up  to  its  full  height, 
and  shaking  as  if  he  had  an  ague-chill ;  "  but  you  are 
a  tyrant  and  a  scoundrel!" 

"Tut!  tut!  Kike,  you're  crazy,  you  little  brute. 
What's  up?" 

"  You  know  what's  up.  You  want  to  cheat  me  out 
of  that  bottom  land ;  you  have  got  it  advertised  on 
the  back  side  of  a  tree  in  North's  holler,  without  con- 
sulting mother  or  me.  I  have  been  over  to  Jonesville 
to-day,  and  picked  out  Colonel  Wheeler  to  act  as  my 
gardeen." 

"Colonel  Wheeler?  Why,  that's  an  insult  to  me!" 
And  the  captain  ceased  to  laugh,  and  grew  red. 

"I  hope  it  is.  I  couldn't  get  the  judge  to  take 
back  the  order  for  the  sale  of  the  land ;  he's  afeard  of 
iyou.  But  now  let  me  tell  you  something,  Enoch 
Lumsden !  If  you  selt  my  land  by  that  order  of  the 
court,  you'll  lose  more'n  you'll  make.  I  ai>'t  afeard 
of  the  devil  nor  none  of  his  angels ;  and  I  recken 
you're  one  of  the  blackest.  It'll  cost  you  more  burnt 
barns  and  dead  hosses  and  cows  and  hogs  and  sheep 


A    CRISIS. 


59 


than  what  you  make  will  pay  for.  You  cheated  pap- 
py, but  you  shan't  make  nothin'  out  of  Little  Kike. 
I'll  turn  Ingin,  and  take  Ingin  law  onto  you,  you  old 
thief  and—" 

Here  Captain  Lumsden  stepped  forward  and  raised 


THE  ALTERCATION. 

his  cowhide.     "I'll  teach  you    some    manners,  you  im- 
pudent  little  brat!" 

Kike  quivered  all  over,  but  did  not  move  hand  or 
foot.  "  Hit  me  if  you  dare,^  Enoch  Lumsden,  and 
they'll  be  blood  betwixt  us  then.  You  hit  me  wunst, 
and  they'll  be  one  less  Lumsden  alive  in  a  year.  You 
or  me'll  have  to  go  to  the  bone-yard." 


i'HE    CIRCUIT  RIDER, 

Patty  had  stopped  her  wheel,  had  forgotten  ^d 
about  her  two  dozen  a  day,  and  stood  frightened  in 
the  door,  near  Morton.  Morton  advanced  and  took 
hold  of  Kike. 

"Come,  Kike!  Kike!  don't  be  so  wrothy,"  said  he. 

"  Keep  hands  offen  me,  Mort  Goodwin,"  said  Kike, 
shaking  loose.  "  I've  got  an  account  to  settle,  and  ef 
he  tetches  a  thread  of  my  coat  with  a  cowhide,  it'll  be 
a  bad  day  fer  both  on  us.  We'll  settle  with  blood 
then." 

"It's  no  use  for  you  to  interfere,  Mort,"  snarled 
the  captain.  "  I  know  well  enough  who  put  Kike  up 
to  this.  I'll  settle  with  both  of  you,  some  day." 
Then,  with  an  oath,  the  captain  went  into  the  house, 
while  the  two  young  men  moved  away  down  the  road, 
Morton  not  daring  to  look  at  Patty. 

What  Morton  dreaded  most  had  come  upon  him. 
As  for  Kike,  when  once  they  were  out  of  sight  of 
Lumsden's,  the  reaction  on  his  feeble  frame  was  terri- 

.ble.     He  sat  down  on  a  log  and  cried  with  grief  and 
anger. 

"  The  worst  of  it  is,  I've  ruined  your  chanceSj 
Mort,"  said  he. 

And  Morton  did  not  reply. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

THE      FALL      HUNT. 

MORTON  led  Kike  home  in  silence,  and  then  re«» 
turned  to  his  father's  house,  deposited  his  turkey 
outside  the  door,  and  sat  down  on  a  broken  chair  by 
the  fire-place.  His  father,  a  hypochondriac,  hard  of 
hearing,  and  slow  of  thought  and  motion,  looked  at 
him  steadily  a  moment,  and  then  said : 

"Sick,  Mort?     Coin'  to  have  a  chill?" 

"No,  sir." 

"  You  look  powerful  dauncy,"  said  the  old  man,  as 
he  stuffed  his  pipe  full  of  leaf  tobacco  which  he  had 
chafed  in  his  hand,  and  sat  down  on  the  other  side  of 
the  fire-place.  "I  feel  a  kind  of  all-overishness  my- 
self. I  'low  we'll  have  the  fever  in  the  bottoms  this 
year.  Hey  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,  sir." 

"What?" 

"  I  said  I  didn't  know."  Morton  found  it  hard  to 
answer  his  father  with  decency.  The  old  man  said 
"  Oh,"  when  he  understood  Morton's  last  reply ;  and 
perceiving  that  his  son  was  averse  to  talking,  he  de- 
voted himself  to  his  pipe,  and  to  a  cheerful  revery  on 
the  awful  consequences  that  might  result  if  *'  the  fever," 
which  was  rumored  to  have  broken  out  at  Chilicothe, 
should  spread  to  the  Hissawachee  bottom.v^Mrs.  Good- 
win took  Morton's  moodiness  to  be  a  fresh  evidence 


,.62  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

i  ofjhe  working  of  the  Divine  Spirit  in  his  heart,  and 
she  began  to  hope  more  than  ever  that  he  might 
prove  to  be  one  of  the  elect.  Indeed,  she  thought  it 
quite  probable  that  a  boy  so  good  to  his  mother  would 
be  one  of  the  precious  few;  for  though  she  knew  that 
the  election  was  unconditional,  and  of  grace,  she  could 
not  help  feeling  that  there  was  an  antecedent  proba- 
bility of  Morton's  being  chosen.  She  went  quietly  and 
cheerfully  to  her  work,  spreading  the  thin  corn-meaJ 
dough  on  the  clean  hoe  used  in  that  day  instead  of  a 
griddle,  for  baking  the  "hoe-cake,"  and  putting  the 
hoe  in  its  place  before  the  fire,  setting  the  sassafras 
tea  to  draw,  skimming  the  milk,  and  arranging  the 
plates — white,  with  blue  edges  —  and  the  yellow  cups 
and  saucers  on  the  table,  and  all  the  while  praying 
that  Morton  might  be  found  one  of  those  chosen  be- 
fore the  foundation  of  the  world  to  be  sanctified  and 
saved  to  the  glory  of  God. 

The  revery  of  Mr.  Goodwin  about  the  possible 
breaking  out  of  the  fever,  and  the  meditation  of  his 
wife  about  the  hopeful  state  of  her  son,  and  the  pain- 
ful reflections  of  Morton  about  the  disastrous  break 
with  Captain  Lumsden — all  three  set  agoing  primarily 
by  one  cause — were  all  three  simultaneously  -oterrupt- 
ed  by  the  appearance  of  the  younger  son,  Henry,  at 
the  door,  with  a  turkey. 

"Where  did  you  get  that?"  asked  his  mother. 

"Captain  Lumsden,  or  Patty,  sent  it." 

"Captain  Lumsden,  eh?"  said  the  father.  "Well, 
the  captain's  feeling  clever,  I  'low." 

"  He  sent  it  to  Mort  by  little  black  Bob,  and  said 


THE   FALL   HUNT.  63 

it  was  with  Miss  Patty's  somethin'  or  other — couple- 
ments,  Bob  called  'em." 

"Compliments,  eh?"  and  the  father  looked  at  Mor- 
ton, smiling.  "Well,  you're  gettin'  on  there  mighty 
fast,  Mort;  but  how  did  Patty  come  to  send  a  tur- 
key?" The  mother  looked  anxiously  at  her  son,  see- 
ing he  did  not  evince  any  pleasure  at  so  singular  a 
present  from  Patty.  Morton  was  obliged  to  explain 
the  state  of  affairs  between  himself  and  the  captain, 
which  he  did  in  as  few  words 'as  possible.  Of  course, 
he  knew  that  the  use  of  Patty's  name  in  returning  the 
turkey  was  a  ruse  of  Lumsden's,  to  give  him  addition* 
al  pain. 

"It's  bad,"  said  the  father,  as  he  filled  his  pipe 
again,  after  supper.  "  Quarreled  with  Lumsden  !  He'll 
drive  us  off.  We'll  all  take  the  fever  " — for  every  evil 
that  Job  Goodwin  thought  of  immediately  became  in- 
evitable, in  his  imagination — "we'll  all  take  the  fever, 
and  have  to  make  a  new  settlement  in  winter  time." 
Saying  this,  Goodwin  took  his  pipe  out  of  his  mouth, 
rested  his  elbow  on  his  knee,  and  his  head  on  his 
hand,  diligently  exerting  his  imagination  to  make  real 
and  vivid  the  worst  possible  events  conceivable  from 
this  new  md  improved  stand-point  of  despair. 

But  the  wise  mother  set  herself  to  planning;  and 
when  eight  o'clock  had  come,  and  Job  Goodwin  had 
forgotten  the  fever,  having  fallen  into  a  doze  in  his 
shuck -bottom  chair,  Mrs.  Goodwin  told  Morton  that 
the  best  thing  for  him  and  Kike  would  be  to  get  out 
of  the  settlement  until  the  captain  should  have  time 
to  cool  off. 


THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 


"Kike  ought  to  be  got  away  before  he  does  any- 
thing desperate.  We  want  some  meat  for  winter;  and 
though  it's  a  little  early  yet,  you'd  better  start  off  with 
Kike  in  the  morning,"  she  said. 

Always  fond  of  hunting,  anxious  now  to  drown 
pain  and  forebodings  in  some  excitement,  Morton  did 
not  need  a  second  suggestion  from  his  mother.  He 
feared  bad  results  from  Kike's  temper;  and  though  he 
had  little  hope  of  any  relenting  on  Lumsden's  part,  he 
had  an  eager  desire  to  forget  his  trouble  in  a  chase 
after  bears  and  deer.  He  seized  his  cap,  saddled  and 
mounted  Dolly,  and  started  at  once  to  the  house  of 
Kike's  mother.  Soon  after  Morton  went,  his  father 
woke  up,  and,  finding  his  son  gone  out,  complained, 
as  he  got  ready  for  bed,  that  the  boy  would  "  ketch  the 
fever,  certain,  runnin'  'round  that  away  at  night." 

Morton  found  Kike 
in  a  state  of  exhaus- 
tion— pale,  angry,  and 
sick.  Mr.  Brady,  the 
Irish  school -master, 
from  whom  the  boys 
had  received  most  of 
their  education  and 
many  a  sound  whip- 
ping, was  doing  his 
best  to  divert  Kike 
from  his  revengeful 
mood.  It  is  a  singu- 
lar fact  in  the  history 
THE  IRISH  SCHOOL-MASTER.  of  the  West,  that  so 


THE   FALL   HUNT.  65 

large  a  proportion  of  the  first  school-masters  were  Irish- 
men of  uncertain  history. 

"Ha!  Moirton,  is  it  you?"  said  Brady.  "I'm 
roight  glad  to  see  ye.  Here's  this  b'y  says  hay'd  a 
shot  his  own  uncle  as  shore  as  hay'd  a  toiched  him 
with  his  roidin'- fwhip.  An'  I've  been  a-axin  ov  him 
fwoi  hay  hain't  blowed  out  me  brains  a  dozen  times, 
sayin'  oive  lathered  him  with  baich  switches.  I  didn't 
guiss  fwat  a  saltpayter  kag  hay  wuz,  sure.  Else  I'd  a 
had  him  sarched  for  foire-arms  before  iver  I'd  a  ven- 
ter'd  to  inform  him  which  end  of  the  alphabet  was 
the  bayginnin'.  Hay  moight  a  busted  me  impty  pate 
for  tellin*  him  that  A  wusn't  B." 

It  was  impossible  for  Morton  to  keep  from  smiling 
at  the  good  old  fellow's  banter.  Brady  was  bent  on 
mollifying  Kike,  who  was  one  of  his  brightest  and 
most  troublesome  pupils,  standing  next  to  Patty  and 
Morton  in  scholarship  though  much  younger. 

Kike's  mother,  a  shrewd  but  illiterate  woman,  was 
much  troubled  to  see  him  in  so  dangerous  a  passion. 
"  I  wish  he  was  leetle-er,  ur  bigger,"  she  said. 

"  An'  fwoi  air  ye  afther  wishing  that  same,  me  dair 
madam?"  asked  the  Irishman. 

"  Bekase,"  said  the  widow,  "  ef  he  was  leetle-er,  I 
could  whip  it  outen  him ;  ef  he  was  bigger,  he  wouldn't 
be  sich  a  fool.  Boys  is  allers  powerful  troublesome 
when  they're  kinder  'twixt  and  'tween — nary  man  nor 
boy.  They  air  boys,  but  they  feel  so  much  bigger'n 
they  used  to  be,  that  they  think  theirselves  men,  and 
talk  about  shootin',  and  all  sich  like.  Deliver  me  from 
a  boy  jest  a  leetle  too  big  to  be  laid  acrost  your  lapy 


66  THE    CIRCUIT  RWER. 

and  larnt  what's  what.  Tho',  ef  I  do  say  it,  Kike's 
been  a  oncommon  good  sort  of  boy  to  me  mostly,  on'y 
he's  got  a  oncommon  lot  of  red  pepper  into  him,  like 
his  pappy  afore  him,  and  he's  one  of  them  you  can't 
turn.  An',  as  for  Enoch  Lumsden,  I  would  be  glad  ef 
he  wuz  shot,  on'y  I  don't  want  no  little  fool  like  Kike 
to  go  to  fightin'  a  man  like  Nuck  Lumsden.  Nobody 
but  God  A'mighty  kin  ever  do  jestice  to  his  case;  an* 
it's  a  blessed  comfort  to  me  that  I'll  meet  him  at  the 
Jedgment-day.  Nothin'  does  my  heart  so  much  good, 
like,  as  to  think  what  a  bill  Nuck  '11  have  to  settle 
then,  and  how  he  can't  browbeat  the  Jedge,  nor  shake 
a  mortgage  in  his  face.  It's  the  on'y  rale  nice  thing 
about  the  Day  of  Jedgment,  akordin'  to  my  thinkin'. 
I  mean  to  call  his  attention  to  some  things  then.  He 
won't  say  much  about  his  wife's  belongin'  to  fust  fam- 
ilies thar,  I  'low." 

Brady  laughed  long  and  loud  at  this  sally  of  Mrs. 
Hezekiah  Lumsden 's ;  and  even  Kike  smiled  a  little, 
partly  at  his  mother's  way  of  putting  things,  and  part- 
ly from  the  contagion  of  Brady's  merry  disposition. 

Morton  now  proposed  Mrs.  Goodwin's  plan,  that  he 
and  Kike  should  leave  early  in  the  morning,  on  the 
fall  hunt.  Kike  felt  the  first  dignity  of  manhood  on 
him ;  he  knew  that,  after  his  high  tragic  stand  with  his 
uncle,  he  ought  to  stay,  and  fight  it  out ;  but  then  the 
opportunity  to  go  on  a  long  hunt  with  'Morton  was  a 
rare  one,  and  killing  a  bear  would  be  almost  as  pleas- 
ant to  his  boyish  ambition  as  shooting  his  uncle. 

"I  don't  want  to  run  away  from  him.  He'll  think 
I've  backed  out,"  he  said,  hesitatingly. 


THE   FALL   HUNT.  67 

"Now,  I'll  tell  ye  fwat,"  said  Brady,  winking;  "you 
put  out  and  git  some  bear's  ile  for  your  noice  black 
hair.  If  the  cap'n  makes  so  bowld  as  to  sell  ye  out 
of  house  and  home,  and  crick  bottom,  fwoile  ye're 
gone,  it's  yerself  as  can  do  the  burnin*  afther  ye  git 
back.  The  barn's  noo,  and  'tain't  quoit  saysoned  yit. 
It'll  burn  a  dale  better  fwen  ye're  ray-turned,  me  lad. 
An',  as  for  the  shootin*  part,  practice  on  the  bears  fust ! 
'T would  be  a  pity  to  miss  foire  on  the  captain,  and 
him  ye're  own  dair  uncle,  ye  know.  He'll  keep  till  ye 
come  back.  If  I  say  anybody  a  goin'  to  crack  him 
owver,  I'll  jist  spake  a  good  word  for  ye,  an'  till  him 
as  the  cap  tin's  own  affictionate  niphew  has  got  the 
fust  pop  at  him,  by  roight  of  bavin'  blood  kin,  sure." 

Kike  could  not  help  smiling  grimly  at  this  presen- 
tation of  the  matter ;  and  while  he  hesitated,  his  moth- 
er said  he  should  go.  She'd  bundle  him  off  in  the 
early  morning.  And  long  before  daylight,  the  two 
boys,  neither  of  whom  had  slept  during  the  night,  start- 
ed, with  guns  on  their  shoulders,  and  with  the  vener- 
erable  Blaze  for  a  pack-horse.  Dolly  was  a  giddy 
young  thing,  that  could  not  be  trusted  in  business  so 

grave, 

D 


CHAPTER    VII. 

TREEING     A     PREACHER 

HAD  I   but   bethought   myself  in  time  to  call  this 
history  by  one  of  those  gentle  titles  now  in  vogue, 
as  "  The  Wild  Hunters  of  t>e  Far  West,"  or  even  by  one 
of  the  labels   with    which  juvenile    and  Sunday-school 
literature — milk  for  babes — is  now  made  attractive,  as, 
for  instance,  "  Kike,  the  Young  Bear  Hunter."     I  might 
/  here  have  entertained  the  reader  with  a  vigorous  descrip- 
tion of  the  death  of  Bruin,  fierce  and  fat,  at  the  hands 
of  the  triumphant  Kike,  and  of  the  exciting  chase  after 
deer  under  the  direction  of  Morton. 

After  two  weeks  of  such  varying  success  as  hunters 
have,  they  found  that  it  would  be  necessary  to  forego  the 
discomforts  of  camp-life  for  a  day,  and  visit  the  nearest 
settlement  in  order  to  replenish  their  stock  of  ammuni- 
tion. Wilkins'  store,  which  was  the  center  of  a  settle- 
ment, was  a  double  log-building.  In  one  end  the  pro- 
prietor kept  for  sale  powder  and  lead,  a  few  bonnets, 
cheap  ribbons,  and  artificial  flowers,  a  small  stock  of 
earthenware,  and  cheap  crockery,  a  little  homespun  cot- 
ton cloth,  some  bolts  of  jeans  and  linsey,  hanks  of  yarn 
and  skeins  of  thread,  tobacco  for  smoking  and  tobacco 
for  "  chawing,"  a  little  "  store-tea  " — so  called  in  contra- 
distinction to  the  sage,  sassafras  and  crop-vine  teas  in 
general  use — with  a  plentiful  stock  of  whisky,  and 
some  apple-brandy.  The  othef  end  of  this  building 


TREEING   A    PREACHER.  69 

was  a  large  room,  festooned  with  strings  of  drying 
pumpkin,  cheered  by  an  enormous  fireplace,  and  lighted 
by  one  small  window  with  four  lights  of  glass.  In  this 
room,  which  contained  three  beds,  and  in  the  loft 
above,  Wilkins  and  his  family  lived  and  kept  a  first- 
class  hotel. 

In  the  early  West,  Sunday  was  a  day  sacred  to 
Diana  and  Bacchus.  Our  young  friends  visited  the 
settlement  at  Wilkins'  on  that  day,  not  because  they 
wished  to  rest,  but  because  they  had  begun  to  get 
lonely,  and  they  knew  that  Sunday  would  not  fail  to 
fmd  some  frolic  in  progress,  and  in  making  new 
acquaintances,  fifty  miles  from  home,  they  would  be 
able  to  relieve  the  tedium  of  the  wilderness  with  games 
at  cards,  and  other  social  enjoyments. 

Morton  and  Kike  arrived  at  Wilkins'  combined 
store  and  tavern  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and 
found  the  expected  crowd  of  loafers.  The  new-comers 
"  took  a  hand "  in  all  the  sports,  the  jumping,  the 
foot-racing,  the  quoit-pitching,  the  "wras'linV'  the 
target-shooting,  the  poker-playing,  and  the  rest,  and 
were  soon  accepted  as  clever  fellows.  A  frontierman  / 
could  bestow  no  higher  praise — to  be  a  clever  fellow 
in  his  sense  was  to  know  how  to  lose  at  cards,  with- 
out grumbling,  the  peltries  hard-earned  in  hunting,  to 
be  always  ready  to  change  your  coon-skins  into  "  drinks 
for  the  crowd,"  and  to  be  able  to  hit  a  three-inch 
"mark"  at  two  hundred  paces  without  bragging. 

Just  as  the  sports  had  begun  to  lose  their  zest  a 
litf'.e,  there  walked  up  to  the  tavern  door  a  man  in 
homespun  dress,  carrying  one  of  his  shoes  in  his  hand, 


70  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

and    yet    not    seeming    to    be    a   plain  backwoodsman. 


ELECTIONEERING. 

He  looked  a  trifle  over  thirty  years  of  age,  and  an 
acute  observer  might  have  guessed  from  his  face  that 
his  life  had  been  one  of  daring  adventure,  and  many 
vicissitudes.  There  were  traces  also  of  conflicting  pur- 
poses, of  a  certain  strength,  and  a  certain  weakness  of 
character ;  the  melancholy  history  of  good  intentions 
overslaughed  by  bad  passions  and  evil  associations 
was  written  in  his  countenance. 

"  Some  feller  'lectioneerin',  I'll  bet,"  said  one  of 
Morton's  companions. 

The  crowd  gathered  about  the  stranger,  who  spoke 


TREEING   A    PREACHER.  Yl 

to  each  one  as  though  he  had  known  him  always.  He 
proposed  "  the  drinks "  as  the  surest  road  to  an  ac- 
quaintance, and  when  all  had  drunk,  the  stranger  paid 
the  score,  not  in  skins  but  in  silver  coin. 

"See  here,  stranger,"  said  Morton,  mischievously, 
"you're  mighty  clever,  by  hokey.  What  are  you  run- 
ning  fer?" 

Well,  gentlemen,  you  guessed  me  out  that  time.  I 
'low  to  run  for  sheriff  next  heat,"  said  the  stranger, 
who  affected  dialect  for  the  sake  of  popularity. 

"What  mout  your  name  be?"  asked  one  of  the 
company. 

"  Marcus  Burchard's  my  name  when  I'm  at  home. 
I  live  at  Jenkinsville.  I  sot  out  in  life  a  poor  boy. 
I'm  so  used  to  bein'  bar'footed  that  my  shoes  hurts 
my  feet  an'  I  have  to  pack  one  of  'em  in  my  hand 
most  of  the  time." 

Morton  here  set  down  his  glass,  and  looking  at  the 
Stranger  with  perfect  seriousness  said,  dryly  '•  "  Well, 
Mr.  Burchard,  I  never  heard  that  speech  so  well  done 
before.  We're  all  goin*  to  vote  for  you,  without  t'other 
man  happens  to  do  it  up  slicker'n  you  do.  I  don't 
believe  he  can,  though.  That  was  got  off  very  nice." 

Burchard  was  acute  enough  to  join  in  the  laugh 
which  this  sally  produced,  and  to  make  friends  with 
Morton,  who  was  clearly  the  leader  of  the  party .  and 
whose  influence  was  worth  securing. 

Nothing  grows  wearisome  so  soon  as  idleness  and 
play,  and  as  evening  drew  on,  the  crowd  tired  even 
of  Mr.  Burchard's  choice  collection  of  funny  anec- 
dotes— little  stories  that  had  been  aired  in  the  same 


THE    CIRCUIT   RIDER. 

order   at  every  other   tavern   and  store  in   the  county. 

From  sheer  ennui  it  was  proposed  that  they  should 
attend  Methodist  preaching  at  a  house  two  miles  away. 
They  could  at  least  get  some  fun  out  of  it.  Burchard, 
foreseeing  a  disturbance,  excused  himself.  He  wished 
he  might  enjoy  the  sport,  but  he  must  push  on.  And 
"  push  on "  he  did.  In  a  closely  contested  election 
even  Methodist  votes  were  not  to  be  thrown  away. 

Morton  and  Kike  relished  the  expedition.  They 
v  had  heard  that  the  Methodists  were  a  rude,  canting, 
illiterate  race,  cloaking  the  worst  practices  under  an 
appearance  of  piety.  Mr.  Donaldson  had  often  ful- 
minated against  them  from  the  pulpit,  and  they  felt 
almost  sure  that  they  could  count  on  his  apostolic 
approval  in  their  laudable  enterprise  of  disturbing  a 
Methodist  meeting. 

The  preacher  whom  they  heard  was  of  the  rough- 
est type.  His  speech  was  full  of  dialectic  forms  and 
.  ungrammatical  phrases.  His  illustrations  were  exceed- 
ingly uncouth.  It  by  no  means  followed  that  he  was 
not  an  effective  preacher.  All  these  defects  were  rather 
to  his  advantage, — the  backwoods  rhetoric  was  suited 
to  move  the  backwoods  audience.  But  the  party  from 
the  tavern  were  in  no  mood  to  be  moved  by  any- 
thing. They  came  for  amusement,  and  set  themselves 
diligently  to  seek  it.  Morton  was  ambitious  to  lead 
among  his  new  friends,  as  he  did  at  home,  and  on 
this  occasion  he  made  use  of  his  rarest  gift.  The 
preacher,  Mr.  Mellen,  was  just  getting  "warmed  up" 
with  his  theme;  he  was  beginning  to  sling  his  rude 
metaphors  to  the  right  and  left,  and  the  audience  was 


TREEING   A    PREACHER.  V3 

last  coming  under  his  influence,  when  Morton  Good- 
win, who  had  cultivated  a  ventriloquial  gift  for  the 
diversion  of  country  parties,  and  the  disturbance  of 
Mr.  Brady's  school,  now  began  to  squeak  like  a  rat 
in  a  trap,  looking  all  the  while  straight  at  the  preacher, 
as  if  profoundly  interested  in  the  discourse.  The 
women  were  startled  and  the  grave  brethren  turned 
their  austere  faces  round  to  look  stern  reproofs  at  the 
young  men.  In  a  moment  the  squeaking  ceased,  and 
there  began  the  shrill  yelping  of  a  little  dog,  which 
seemed  to  be  on  the  women's  side  of  the  room.  Brother 
Mellen,  the  preacher,  paused,  and  was  about  to  request 
that  the  dog  should  be  removed,  when  he  began  to 
suspect  from  the  sensation  among  the  young  men  that 
the  disturbance  was  from  them. 

"You  needn't  be  afeard,  sisters,"  he  said,  "puppies 
will  bark,  even  when  they  walk  on  two  legs  instid  of 
four." 

This  rude  joke  produced  a  laugh,  but  gained  no 
permanent  advantage  to  the  preacher,  for  Morton,  being 
a  stranger,  did  not  care  for  the  good  opinion  of  the 
audience,  but  for  the  applause  of  the  young  revelers 
with  whom  he  had  come.  He  kept  silence  now,  until 
the  preacher  again  approached  a  climax,  swinging  his 
stalwart  arms  and  raising  his  voice  to  a  tremendous 
pitch  in  the  endeavor  to  make  the  day  of  doom  seem 
sufficiently  terrible  to  his  hearers.  At  last,  when  he 
got  to  the  terror  of  the  wicked,  he  cried  out  dra- 
matically, "What  are  these  awful  sounds  I  hear?"  At 
this  point  he  made  a  pause,  which  would  have  been 
very  effective,  had  it  not  been  for  young  Goodwin. 


CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

"Caw!  caw!  caw-awf  cah!"  he  said,  mimicking  a 
crow. 

"  Young  man,"  roared  the  preacher,  "  you  are  hair- 
hung  and  breeze-shaken  over  that  pit  that  has  no 
bottom." 

"Oh,  golly!"  piped  the  voice  of  Morton,  seeming 
to  come  from  nowhere  in  particular.  Mr.  Mellen  now 
ceased  preaching,  and  started  toward  the  part  of  the 
room  in  which  the  young  men  sat,  evidently  intending 
to  deal  out  summary  justice  to  some  one.  He  was 
a  man  of  immense  strength,  and  his  face  indicated 
that  he  meant  to  eject  the  whole  party.  But  they  all 
left  in  haste  except  Morton,  who  staid  and  met  the 
preacher's  gaze  with  a  look  of  offended  innocence. 
Mr.  Mellen  was  perplexed.  A  disembodied  voice 
wandering  about  the  room  would  have  been  too  much 
f  for  Hercules  himself.  When  the  baffled  orator  turned 
back  to  begin  to  preach  again,  Morton  squeaked  in 
an  aggravating  falsetto,  but  with  a  good  imitation  of  Mr. 
Mellen's  inflections,  "Hair-hung  and  breeze-shaken!" 

And  when  the  angry  preacher  turned  fiercely  upon 
him,  the  scoffer  was  already  fleeing  through  the  door. 


CHAPTER    K///. 

A    LESSON    IN    SYNTAX. 

rHE  young  men  were  gone  until  the  latter  part  of 
November.  Several  persons  longed  for  their  re- 
turn. Mr.  Job  Goodwin,  for  one,  began  to  feel  a 
strong  conviction  that  Mort  had  taken  the  fever  and 
died  in  the  woods.  He  was  also  very  sure  that  each 
succeeding  day  would  witness  some  act  of  hostility 
toward  himself  on  the  part  of  Captain  Lumsden;  and 
as  each  day  failed  to  see  any  evil  result  from  the 
anger  of  his  powerful  neighbor,  or  to  oring  any  ti» 
dings  of  disaster  to  Morton,  Job  Goodwin  faithfully 
carried  forward  the  dark  foreboding  with  compound 
interest  to  the  next  day.  He  abounded  in  quotations 
of  such  Scripture  texts  as  set  forth  the  fact  that  man's 
days  were  few  and  full  of  trouble.  The  book  of 
Ecclesiastes  was  to  him  a  perennial  fountain  of  misery 
— he  delighted  to  found  hib  despairing  auguries  upon 
the  superior  wisdom  of  Solomon.  He  looked  fot 
Morton's  return  with  great  anxiety,  hoping  to  find 
that  nothing  worse  had  happened  to  him  than  tht» 
shooting  away  of  an  arm.  Mrs.  Goodwin,  lor  her 
part,  dreaded  the  evil  influences  of  the  excitements  of 
hunting.  She  feared  lest  Morton  should  fall  into  the 
bad  habits  that  had  carried  away  from  home  an  older 
brother,  for  whose  untimely  death  in  an  affray  she 
had  never  ceased  to  mourn. 


T6  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

$ 

And  Patty !    When   her   father  had  "on  that  angry 

afternoon  discovered  the  turkey  that  Morton  had  given 
her,  and  had  sent  it  home  with  a  message  in  her 
name,  Patty  had  borne  herself  like  the  proud  girl  that 
she  was.  She  held  her  head  aloft;  she  neither  indi* 
cated  pleasure  nor  displeasure  at  her  father's  course, 
she  would  not  disclose  any  liking  for  Morton,  nor 
any  complaisance  toward  her  father.  This  air  of  de- 
fiance about  her  Captain  Lumsden  admired.  It  showed 
her  mettle,  he  said  to  himself.  Patty  would  almost 
have  finished  that  two  dozen  cuts  of  yarn  if  it  had 
cost  her  life.  She  even  managed  to  sing,  toward  the 
last  of  her  weary  day  of  work ;  and  when,  at  nine 
o'clock,  she  reeled  off  her  twenty-fourth  cut, — drawing 
a  sigh  of  relief  when  the  reel  snapped, — and  hung  her 
twelve  hanks  up  together,  she  seemed  as  blithe  as 
ever.  Her  sickly  mother  sitting,  knitting  in  hand, 
with  wan  face  bordered  by  white  cap-frill,  looked  ap- 
provingly on  Patty's  achievement.  Patty  showed  her 
good  blood,  was  the  mother's  reflection. 

But  Patty?  She  did  not  hurry.  She  put  every, 
thing  away  carefully.  She  was  rather  slow  about  re- 
tiring. But  when  at  last  she  went  aloft  into  her  room 
in  the  old  block-house  part  of  the  building,  and  shut 
and  latched  her  door,  and  set  her  candle-stick  on  the 
high,  old-fashioned,  home-made  dressing-stand,  she 
•looked  at  herself  in  the  little  looking-glass  and  did 
not  see  there  the  face  she  had  been  able  to  keep 
while  the  eyes  of  others  were  upon  her.  She  saw 
weariness,  disappointment,  and  dejection.  Her  strong 
will  held  her  up.  She  undressed  herself  with  habituai 


A    LESSON  IN  $YNTAX.  77 

quietness.     She  even  stopped  to  look  again  in  self-pity 
at  her  face    as   she   stood   by  the   glass  to  tie  on  hei 


night- cap.  But 
when  at  last  she 
had  blown  out  the 
candle,  and  care- 
fully  extinguished 
the  wick,  and  had  climb* 
ed  into  the  great,  high, 
billowy  feather-bed  un- 
der the  rafters,  she  bur- 
ied her  tired  head  in 
the  pillow  and  cried  a  long  time,  hardly  once  admit- 
ting to  herself  what  she  was  crying  about. 

And  as  the  days  wore  on,  and  her  father  ceased 
to  speak  of  Kike  or  Morton?  and  she  heard  that  they 
were  out  of  the  settlement,  she  found  in  herself  an 
ever-increasing  desire  to  see  Morton.  The  more  she 
tried  to  smother  her  feeling,  and  the  more  she  denied 
to  herself  the  existence  of  the  feeling,  the  more  intense 


PATTY  IN  HER  CHAMBER. 


78  THE    CIRCUIT   RIDER. 

did  it  become.  Whenever  hunters  passed  the  gate,  going 
after  or  returning  laden  with  game,  she  stopped  in- 
voluntarily to  gaze  at  them.  But  she  never  failed,  a 
moment  later,  to  affect  an  indifferent  expression  of 
countenance  and  to  rebuke  herself  for  curiosity  so 
idle.  What  were  hunters  to  her? 

But  one  evening  the  travelers  whom  she  looked  for 
went  by.  They  were  worse  for  wear;  their  buck- 
skin pantaloons  were  torn  by  briers ;  their  tread  was 
heavy,  for  they  had  traveled  since  daylight ;  but  Patty, 
peering  through  one  of  the  port-holes  of  the  block- 
house, did  not  fail  to  recognize  old  Blaze,  burdened 
as  he  was  with  venison,  bear-meat  and  skins,  nor  to 
note  how  Morton  looked  long  and  steadfastly  at  Cap- 
tain Lumsden's  house  as  if  hoping  to  catch  a  glimpse 
of  herself.  That  look  of  Morton's  sent  a  blush  of 
pleasure  over  her  face,  which  she  could  not  quite  con- 
ceal when  she  met  the  inquiring  eyes  of  a  younger 
brother  a  minute  later.  But  when  she  saw  her  father 
gallop  rapidly  down  the  road  as  if  in  pursuit  of  the 
young  men,  her  sense  of  pleasure  changed  quickly  to 
foreboding. 

Morton  and  Kike  had  managed,  for  the  most  part, 
to  throw  off  their  troubles  in  the  excitement  of  hunt- 
ing. But  when  at  last  they  had  accumulated  all  the 
meat  old  Blaze  could  carry  and  all  the  furs  they 
could  "  pack,"  they  had  turned  their  steps  toward  home. 
And  with  the  turning  of  their  steps  toward  home  had 
come  the  inevitable  turning  of  their  thoughts  toward 
old  perplexities.  Morton  then  confided  to  Kike  his 
intention  of  leaving  the  settlement  and  leading  the 


A   LESSON  IN   SYNTAX.  79 

life  of  a  hermit  in  the  wilderness  in  case  it  should 
prove  to  be  "  all  off"  between  him  and  Patty.  And 
Kike  said  that  his  mind  was  made  up.  If  he  found 
that  his  uncle  Enoch  had  sold  the  land,  he  would  be 
revenged  in  some  way  and  then  run  off  and  live  with 
the  Indians.  It  is  not  uncommon  for  boys  now-a- 
days  to  make  stern  resolutions  in  moments  of  wretched- 
ness which  they  never  attempt  to  carry  out.  But  the 
rude  life  of  the  West  developed  deep  feeling  and  a 
hardy  persistence  in  a  purpose  once  formed.  Many  a 
young  man  crossed  in  love  or  incited  to  revenge  had 
already  taken  to  the  wilderness,  becoming  either  a 
morose  hermit  or  a  desperado  among  the  savages. 
At  the  period  of  life  when  the  animal  fights  hard  for 
supremacy  in  the  soul  of  man,  destiny  often  hangs 
very  perilously  balanced.  It  was  at  that  day  a  ques- 
tion in  many  cases  whether  a  young  man  of  force 
would  become  a  rowdy  or  a  class-leader. 

When  once  our  hunters  had  entered  the  settlement 
they  became  more  depressed  than  ever.  Morton's  eyes 
searched  Captain  Lumsden's  house  and  yard  in  vain 
for  a  sight  of  Patty.  Kike  looked  sternly  ahead  of 
him,  full  of  rage  that  he  should  have  to  be  reminded 
of  his  uncle's  existence.  And  when,  five  minutes  later, 
they  heard  horse-hoofs  behind  them,  and,  looking  back, 
saw  Captain  Lumsden  himself  galloping  after  them  on 
his  sleek,  "clay-bank"  saddle-horse,  their  hearts  beat 
fast  with  excitement.  Morton  wondered  what  the  Cap- 
tain could  want  with  them,  seeing  it  was  not  his  way 
to  carry  on  his  conflicts  by  direct  attack;  and  Kike 
contented  himself  with  looking  carefully  to  the  prim 


80  THE   CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

ing  of  his  flintlock,  compressing  his  lips  and  walking 
straight  forward. 

"  Hello,  boys !  Howdy  ?  Got  a  nice  passel  of  furs, 
eh?  Had  a  good  time?" 

"  Pretty  good,  thank  you,  sir !"  said  Morton,  aston- 
ished at  the  greeting,  but  eager  enough  to  be  on  good 
terms  again  with  Patty's  father.  Kike  said  not  a 
word,  but  grew  white  with  speechless  anger. 

"Nice  saddle  of  ven'son  that!"  and  the  Captain 
tapped  it  with  his  cow-hide  whip.  "  Killed  a  bar; 
too;  who  killed  it?" 

"Kike,"  said  Morton. 

"  Purty  good  fer  you,  Kike  \  Got  over  your  pout 
about  that  land  yet?" 

Kike  did  not  speak,  for  the  reason  that  he  could 
not. 

"  What  a  little  fool  you  was  to  make  sich  a  fuss 
about  nothing!  I  didn't  sell  it,  of  course,  when  you 
didn't  want  me  to,  but  you  ought  to  have  a  little 
manners  in  your  way  of  speaking.  Come  to  me  next 
time,  and  don't  go  running  to  the  judge  and  old 
Wheeler.  If  you  won't  be  a  fool,  you'll  find  your 
own  kin  your  best  friends.  Come  over  and  see  me 
to-morry,  Mort.  I've  got  some  business  with  you. 
Good-by!"  and  the  Captain  galloped  home. 

Nor  did  he  fail  to  observe  how  inquiringly  Patty 
looked  at  his  face  to  see  what  had  been  the  nature 
of  his  interview  with  the  boys.  With  a  characteristic 
love  of  exerting  power  over  the  moods  of  another,  he 
said,  in  Patty's  hearing :  "  That  Kike  is  the  sulkies! 
*ittle  brute  I  ever  did  see." 


A   LESSON  IN  SYNTAX.  81 

And  Patty  spent  most  of  her  time  during  the 
night  in  trying  to  guess  what  this  saying  indicated. 
It  was  what  Captain  Lumsden  had  wished. 

Neither  Morton  nor  Kike  could  guess  what  the 
Captain's  cordiality  might  signify.  Kike  was  pleased 
that  his  land  had  not  been  sold,  but  he  was  not  in 
the  least  mollified  by  that  fact.  He  was  glad  of  his 
victory  and  hated  his  uncle  all  the  more. 

After  the  weary  weeks  of  camping,  Morton  greatly 
enjoyed  the  warm  hoe-cakes,  the  sassafras  tea,  the 
milk  and  butter,  that  he  got  at  his  mother's  table. 
His  father  was  pleased  to  have  his  boy  back  safe  and 
sound,  but  reckoned  the  fever  was  shore  to  ketch  them 
all  before  Christmas  or  Noo  Years.  Morton  told  of 
his  meeting  with  the  Captain  in  some  elation,  but  Job 
Goodwin  shook  his  head.  He  "knowed  what  that 
meant,"  he  said.  "  The  Cap'n  always  wuz  sorter  deep. 
He'd  hit  sometime  when  you  didn't  know  whar  the 
lick  come  from.  And  he'd  hit  powerful  hard  when  he 
did  hit,  you  be  shore/' 

Before  the  supper  was  over,  who  should  come  in 
but  Brady.  He  had  heard,  he  said,  that  Morton  had 
come  home,  and  he  was  dayloighted  to  say  him  agin. 
Full  of  quaint  fun  and  queer  anecdotes,  knowing  all 
the  gossip  of  the  settlement,  and  having  a  most  mis- 
cellaneous and  disordered  lot  of  information  besides, 
Brady  was  always  welcome;  he  filled  the  place  of  a 
local  newspaper.  He  was  a  man  of  much  reading,  but 
with  no  mental  discipline.  He  had  treasured  all  the 
strange  and  delightful  things  he  had  ever  heard  or 
read — the  bloody  murders,  the  sudden  deaths,  the 


52  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

wonderful  accidents  and  incidents  of  life,  the  ups  and 
downs  of  noted  people,  and  especially  a  rare  fund  01 
humorous  stories.  He  had  so  many  of  these  at  com- 
mand that  it  was  often  surmised  that  he  manufactured 
them.  He  "  boarded  'round  "  during  school-time,  and 
sponged  'round  the  rest  of  the  year,  if,  indeed,  a  man 
can  be  said  to  sponge  who  paid  for  his  board  so 
amply  in  amusement,  information,  flattery,  and  a  thou- 
sand other  good  offices.  Good  company  is  scarcer 
and  higher  in  price  in  the  back  settlements  than  in 
civilization ;  and  many  a  backwoods  housewife,  perish- 
ing of  ennuty  has  declared  that  the  genial  Brady's 
"  company  wuz  worth  his  keep," — an  opinion  in  which 
husbands  and  children  always  coincided.  For  wel- 
come belongs  primarily  to  woman ;  no  man  makes  an- 
other's reception  sure  until  he  is  pretty  certain  of  his 
wife's  disposition  toward  the  guest. 

Mrs.  Goodwin  set  a  place  for  the  "master"  with 
right  good  will,  and  Brady  catechised  "  Moirton " 
about  his  adventures.  The  story  of  Kike's  first  bear 
roused  the  good  Irishman's  enthusiasm,  and  when 
Morton  told  of  his  encounter  with  the  circuit-rider, 
Brady  laughed  merrily.  Nothing  was  too  bad  in  his 
eyes  for  "  a  man  that  undertook  to  prache  afore  hay 
could  parse."  Brady's  own  gramrmitical  knowledge, 
indeed,  had  more  influence  on  his  parsing  than  on 
his  speech. 

At  last,  when  supper  was  ended,  Morton  came  to 
the  strangest  of  all  his  adventures — the  meeting  with 
Captain  Lumsden;  and  while  he  told  it.  the  school- 
master's eyes  were  brimming  full  of  fun.  By  the  time 


A    LESSON1  IN  SYNTAX*  83 

£ie  story  was  finished,  Morton  began  to  suspect  that 
Brady  knew  more  about  it  than  he  affected  to. 

"  Looky  here,  Mr.  Brady,"  he  said,  "  I  believe  you 
could  tell  something  about  this  thing.  What  made  the 
coon  come  down  so  easy?" 

"  Tut !  tut !  and  ye  shouldn't  call  yer  own  dair 
father-in-law  (that  is  to  bay)  a  coun.  Ye  ought  to 
have  larn't  some  manners  agin  this.toime,  with  all  the 
batins  I've  gin  ye  for  disrespect  to  yer  supayriors. 
An'  ispicially  to  thim  as  is  closte  akin  to  ye." 

Little  Henry,  who  sat  squat  upon  the  hearth,  tick- 
ling the  ears  of  a  sleepy  dog  with  a  straw,  saw  an  in- 
finite deal  of  fun  in  this  rig  on  Morton. 

"  Well,  but  you  didn't  answer  my  question,  Mr. 
Brady.  How  did  you  fetch  the  Captain  round  ?  For 
I  think  you  did  it." 

"  Be  gorra  I  did !"  and  Brady  looked  up  from  un- 
der his  eyebrows  with  his  face  all  a-twinkle  with  fun. 
"  I  jist  parsed  the  sintince  in  sich  a  way  as  to  put 
the  Captin  in  the  nominative  case.  He  loikes  to  be 
put  in  the  nominative  case,  does  the  Captin.  If  iver 
yer  goin*  to  win  the  devoine  craycher  that  calls  him 
father  ye'll  hev  to  larn  to  parse  with  Captin  Lumsden 
for  the  nominative."  Here  Brady  gave  the  whole 
party  a  look  of  triumphant  mystery,  and  dropped  his 
head  reflectively  upon  his  bosom. 

"Well,  but  you'll  have  to  teach  me  that  way  of 
parsing.  You  left  that  rule  of  syntax  out  last  winter." 
said  Morton,  seeking  to  draw  out  the  master  by  hu- 
moring his  fancy.  "  How  did  you  parse  the  sentence 
vith  him,  whjle  Kike  and  I  were  gone?" 


84  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

tl  Aisy  enough !  don't  you  say  ?  the  nominative  gov« 
arns  the  varb,  and  thin  the  varb  governs  'most  all  the 
rist  of  the  sintince." 

"  Give  an  instance,"  said  Morton,  mimicking  at  the 
same  time  the  pompous  air  and  authoritative  voice 
with  which  Brady  was  accustomed  to  make  such  a 
demand  of  a  pupil. 

"  Will,  thin,  I'll  till  ye,  Moirton.  But  ye  must  all 
be  quiet  about  it.  I  wint  to  say  the  Captin  soon  af- 
ther  yerself  and  Koike  carried  yer  two  impty  skulls 
into  the  woods.  An*  I  looked  koind  of  confidintial- 
loike  at  the  Captin,  an*  I  siz,  '  Captin,  ye  ought  to 
riprisint  this  county  in  the  ligislater/  siz  I." 

"  *  Do  you  think  so,  Brady  ?'  siz  he. 

"'It's  fwat  I've  been  a-sayin'  down  at  the  Forks,' 
siz  I,  *  till  the  folks  is  all  a-gittin*  of  me  opinion/  siz 
I ;  *  ye've  got  more  interest  in  the  county/  siz  I,  *  than 
the  rist/  siz  I,  'an'  ye've  got  the  brains  to  exart  an 
anfluence  whin  ye  git  thar/  siz  I.  Will,  ye  see,  Moir- 
ton, the  Captin  loiked  that,  and  he  siz,  '  Will,  Brady/ 
siz  he,  'I'm  obleeged  fer  yer  anfluence/  siz  he.  Anf 
I  saw  I  had  'irn.  I'd  jist  put  'im  in  the  nominative 
case  governin'  the  varb.  And  I  was  the  varb.  An*  I 
mint  io  ^ovrern  the  rist."  Here  Brady  stopped  to  smile 
compia<  ently  and  enjoy  the  mystification  of  the  rest. 

"  Will*  I  said  to  'im  afther  that :  '  Captain*  siz  I, 
*  ye  must  be  moighty  keerful  not  to  give  the  inimy  any 
handle  onto  ye/  siz  I.  An'  he  siz  *  Will,  Brady,  I'll 
be  keerful/  siz  he.  An*  I  siz,  '  Captin,  be  pertik'ler 
keerful  about  that  matter  of  Koike,  if  I  may  make  so 
bowld/  siz  I.  'Fer  they'll  use  that  ivery  fwere, 


A   LESSON-  IN   SYNTAX.  85 

They're  a-talkin*  about  it  now.*  An*  the  Captin  siz, 
•Will,  Brady,  I  say  I  kin  thrust  ye/  siz  he.  An*  I 
siz,  *  That  ye  kin,  Captain  Lumsden :  ye  kin  thrust 
the  honor  of  an  Oirish  gintleman/  siz  I.  'Brady,' 
siz  he,  'this  mess  of  Koike's  is  a  bad  one  fer  me, 
since  the  little  brat's  gone  and  brought  ole  Whayler 
into  it,'  siz  he.  'Ye  bitter  belave  it  is,  Captin,  siz  I. 
'  Fwat  shill  I  do,  Brady  ?'  siz  he.  '  Spoike  the  guns, 
Captin/  siz  I.  '  How  ?'  siz  he.  '  Make  it  all  roight 
with  Koike  and  Moirton/  siz  I.  '  As  fer  Moirton/  siz 
I,  '  he's  the  smartest  young  man/  siz  I  (puttin*  im- 
phasis  on  €  young*  you  say),  he's  the  smartest  young 
man/  siz  I,  'in  the  bottoms;  and  if  ye  kin  make  an 
alloiance  with  him/  siz  I,  '  ye've  got  the  smartest  old 
man  managin'  the  smartest  young  man.  An'  if  ye  kin 
make  a  matrimonial  alloiance/  siz  I,  a-winkin'  me  oi 
at  'im,  'atwixt  that  devoine  young  craycher,  yer  charm- 
in'  dauther  Patty/  siz  I,  'and  Moirton,  ye've  got  him 
tethered  for  loife,  and  the  guns  is  spoiked/  siz  I.  An* 
he  siz,  '  Brady,  yer  Oirish  head  is  good,  afther  all. 
I'll  think  about  it/  siz  he.  An'  that's  how  I  made 
Captin  Lumsden  the  nominative  case  governin*  the 
varb  —  that's  myself — and  thin  the  varb  rigilates  the 
rist.  "  But  I  must  go  and  say  Koike,  or  the  little  black- 
hidded  fool  '11  spoil  all  me  conthrivin'  and  parsin*  wic? 
the  captin.  Betwixt  Moirton  and  Koike  and  the  cap- 
tin,  it's  meself  as  has  got  a  hard  sum  in  the  rule  of 
thray.  This  toime  I  hope  the  answer  '11  come  out  all 
roight,  Moirton,  me  b'y!"  and  Brady  slapped  him  on 
the  shoulder  and  went  out.  Then  he  put  his  head 
into  the  door  again  to  say  that  the  answer  set  down 
in  the  book  was:  "Misthress  Patty  Goodwin." 


CHAPTER   IX. 

THE    COMING    OF    THE    CIRCUIT    RIDER. 

COLONEL  Wheeler  was  the  standard-bearer  of  the 
flag  of  independence  in  the  Hissawachee  bot- 
tom. He  had  been  a  Captain  in  the  Revolution ;  but 
Revolutionary  titles  showed  a  marked  tendency  to 
grow  during  the  quarter  of  a  century  that  followed 
the  close  of  the  war.  An  ex-officer's  neighbors  car- 
ried him  forward  with  his  advancing  age ;  a  sort  of 
ideal  promotion  by  brevet  gauged  the  appreciation  of 
military  titles  as  the  Revolution  passed  into  history 
and  heroes  became  scarcer.  And  emigration  always 
advanced  a  man  several  degrees  —  new  neighbors,  in 
their  uncertainty  about  his  rank,  being  prone  to  give 
him  the  benefit  of  all  doubts,  and  exalt  as  far  as  pos- 
sible the  lustre  which  the  new-comer  conferred  upon 
the  settlement.  Thus  Captain  Wheeler  in  Maryland 
was  Major  Wheeler  in  Western  Pennsylvania,  and  a 
full-blown  Colonel  by  the  time  he  had  made  his  sec- 
ond move,  into  the  settlement  on  Hissawachee  Creek. 
And  yet  I  may  be  wrong.  Perhaps  it  was  not  the 
transplanting  that  did  it.  Even  had  he  remained  on 
the  "Eastern  Shore,"  he  might  have  passed  through  a 
process  of  canonization  as  he  advanced  in  life  that 
would  have  brought  him  to  a  colonelcy:  other  men 
did.  For  what  is  a  Colonel  but  a  Captain  gone  to 
seed? 


THE    COMING   OF    THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER.       87 

'*  Gone  to  seed  "  may  be  considered  a  slang  expres- 
sion ;  and,  as  a  conscientious  writer,  far  be  it  from  me 
to  use  slang.  And  I  take  great  credit  to  myself  for 
avoiding  it  just  now,  since  nothing  could  more  per- 
fectly describe  Wheeler.  His  hair  was  grizzling,  his 
shoulders  had  a  chronic  shrug,  his  under  lip  protruded 
in  an  expression  of  perpetual  resistance,  and  his  prom- 
inent chin  and  brow  seemed  to  have  been  jammed  to- 
gether ;  the  space  between  was  too  small.  He  had  an 
air  of  defense;  his  nature  was  always  in  a  "guard- 
against-cavalry "  attitude.  He  had  entered  into  the 
spirit  of  colonial  resistance  from  childhood;  he  was 
born  in  antagonism  to  kings  and  all  that  are  in  au- 
thority ;  it  was  a  family  tradition  that  he  had  been 
flogged  in  boyhood  for  shooting  pop -gun  wads  into 
the  face  of  a  portrait  of  the  reigning  monarch. 

When  he  settled  in  the  Hissawachee  bottom,  he  of 
course  looked  about  for  the  power  that  was  to  be  re- 
sisted, and  was  not  long  in  finding  it  in  his  neighbor, 
Captain  Lumsden.  He  was  the  one  opponent  whom 
Lumsden  could  not  annoy  into  submission  or  depart- 
ure. To  Wheeler  this  fight  against  Lumsden  was  the 
one  delightful  element  of  life  in  the  Bottoms.  He  had 
now  the  comfortable  prospect  of  spending  his  declin- 
ing years  in  a  fertile  valley  where  there  was  a  power- 
ful  foe,  whose  encroachments  on  the  rights  and  privi- 
leges of  his  neighbors  would  afford  him  an  inexhaust- 
ible theme  for  denunciation,  and  a  delightful  incite- 
ment to  the  exercise  of  his  powers  of  resistance.  And 
thus  for  years  he  had  eaten  his  dinners  with  better 
relish  because  of  his  contest  with  Lumsden.  Mordecai 


88  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

\ 

could  not  have  had  half  so  much  pleasure  in  staring 
stiffly  at  the  wicked  Haman  as  Isaiah  Wheeler  found 
in  meeting  Captain  Lumsden  on  the  road  without  so 
much  as  a  nod  of  recognition.  And  Hainan's  feelings 
were  not  more  deeply  wounded  than  Lumsden 's. 

Colonel  Wheeler  was  not  very  happily  married  j 
for  at  home  he  could  find  no  encroachments  to  resist. 
The  perfect  temper  of  his  wife  disarmed  even  his  op- 
position. He  had  begun  his  married  life  by  fighting 
his  wife's  Methodism ;  but  when  he  came  to  the  Hissa- 
wachee  and  found  Methodism  unpopular,  he  took  up 
arms  in  its  defense. 

Such  was  the  man  whom  Kike  had  selected  as 
guardian  —  a  man  who,  with  all  his  disagreeableness, 
was  possessed  of  honesty,  a  virtue  not  inconsistent 
with  oppugnancy.  But  Kike's  chief  motive  in  choos- 
ing him  was  that  he  knew  that  the  choice  would  be  a 
stab  to  his  uncle's  pride.  Moreover,  Wheeler  was  the 
only  man  who  would  care  to  brave  Lumsden's  anger 
by  taking  the  trust. 

Wheeler  lived  in  a  log  house  on  the  hillside,  and 
to  this  house,  on  the  day  after  the  return  of  Morton 
and  Kike,  there  rode  a  stranger.  He  was  a  broad- 
shouldered,  stalwart,  swarthy  man,  of  thirty-five,  with  a 
serious  but  aggressive  countenance,  a  broad-brim  white 
hat,  a  coat  made  of  country  jeans,  cut  straight-breast- 
ed and  buttoned  to  the  chin,  rawhide  boots,  and  "  lin- 
sey "  leggings  tied  about  his  legs  below  the  knees.  He 
rode  a  stout  horsev  and  carried  an  ample  pair  of  saddle- 
bags. 

Reining  his  horse  in  front  of  the   colonel's   double 


THE    COMING    OF    Tff£    CIRCUIT 

cabin,  he  shouted,  after  the  Western  fashion,  **  Hello ! 
Hello  the  house!" 

At  this  a  quartette  ol  dogs  set  up  a  vociferous 
barking,  ranging  in  key  all  the  way  from  the  con- 
(temptible  treble  of  an  ill-natured  "fice"  to  the  deep 
;baying  of  a  huge  bull-dog. 

"  Hello  the  house !"  cried  the  stranger. 


COLONEL  WHEELER'S  DOCKYARD. 

"  Hello!  hello!"  answered  back  Isaiah  Wheeler, 
opening:  the  door,  and  shouting:  to  the  dog's,  "  You, 
Bull,  come  here  !  Git  out,  pup  !  Clear  out,  all  of 
you  !"  And  he  accompanied  this  command  by  threat- 
ening:^ lifting:  a  stick,  at  which  two  of  the  dog:s  scam- 


90  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

pered  away,  and  a  third  sneakingly  retreated;  but  the 
bull-dog  turned  with  reluctance,  and,  without  smooth- 
ing his  bristles  at  all,  slowly  marched  back  toward  the 
house,  protesting  with  surly  growls  against  this  au- 
thoritative interruption. 

"Hello,  stranger,  howdy?"  said  Colonel  Wheeler, 
advancing  with  caution,  but  without  much  cordiality. 
He  would  not  commit  himself  to  a  welcome  too  rashly ; 
strangers  needed  inspection.  "  '  Light,  won't  you  ?" 
he  said,  presently;  and  the  stranger  proceeded  to  dis- 
mount, while  the  Colonel  ordered  one  of  his  sons  who 
came  out  at  that  moment  to  "put  up  the  stranger's 
horse,  and  give  him  some  fodder  and  corn."  Then 
turning  to  the  new-comer,  he  scanned  him  a  moment, 
and  said:  "A  preacher,  I  reckon,  sir?" 

"Yes,  sir,  I'm  a  Methodist  preacher,  and  I  heard 
that  your  wife  was  a  member  of  the  Methodist  Church, 
and  that  you  were  very  friendly ;  so  I  came  round 
this  way  to  see  if  you  wouldn't  open  your  doors  for 
preaching.  I  have  one  or  two  vacant  days  on  my 
round,  and  thought  maybe  I  might  as  well  take  His- 
sawachee  Bottom  into  the  circuit,  if  I  didn't  find  any- 
thing to  prevent." 

By  this  time  the  colonel  and  his  guest  had  reached 
the  door,  and  the  former  only  said,  "  Well,  sir,  let's  go 
in,  and  see  what  the  old  woman  says.  I  don't  agree 
with  you  Methodists  about  everything,  but  I  do  think 
that  you  are  doing  good,  and  so  I  don't  allow  any- 
body to  say  anything  against  circuit  riders  without 
taking  it  up." 

Mrs.  Wheeler,  a  dignified  woman,  with  a  placidly 


Tff£    COMING    OF    THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER.       91 

religious  face — a  countenance  in  which  scruples  are 
balanced  by  evenness  of  temperament — was  at  the  mo- 
ment engaged  in  dipping  yarn  into  a  blue  dye  that 
stood  in  a  great  iron  kettle  by  the  fire.  She  made 
haste  to  wash  and  dry  her  hands,  that  she  might  have 
a  "good,  old-fashioned  Methodist  shake -hands"  with 
Brother  Magruder,  "the  first  Methodist  preacher  she 
had  seen  since  she  left  Pittsburg." 

Colonel  Wheeler  readily  assented  that  Mr.  Magru* 
der  should  preach  in  his  house.  Methodists  had  just 
the  same  rights  in  a  free  country  that  other  people 
had.  He  "  reckoned  the  Hissawachee  settlement  didn't 
belong  to  one  man,  and  he  had  fit  aginst  the  King  of 
England  in  his  time,  and  was  jist  as  ready  to  fight 
aginst  the  King  of  Hissawachee  Bottom."  The  Colonel 
almost  relaxed  his  stubborn  lips  into  a  smile  when 
he  said  this.  Besides,  he  proceeded,  his  wife  was  a 
Methodist;  and  she  had  a  right  to  be,  if  she  chose. 
He  was  friendly  to  religion  himself,  though  he  wasn't  a 
professor.  If  his  wife  didn't  want  to  wear  rings  or 
artificials,  it  was  money  in  his  pocket,  and  nobody  had 
a  right  to  object.  Colonel  Wheeler  plumed  himself 
before  the  new  preacher  upon  his  general  friendliness 
toward  religion,  and  really  thought  it  might  be  set  down 
on  the  credit  side  of  that  account  in  which  he  imag^ 
ined  some  angelic  book-keeper  entered  all  his  transac- 
tions. He  felt  in  his  own  mind  "middlin'  certain,'* 
as  he  would  have  told  you,  that  "betwixt  the  prayin* 
for  he  got  from  such  a  wife  as  his,  and  his  own  gin- 
eral  friendliness  to  the  preachers  and  the  Methodis* 
meetings,  he  would  be  saved  at  the  last,  somehow  of 


92  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

nother"  It  was  not  in  the  man  to  reflect  that  his 
"gineral  friendliness"  for  the  preacher  had  its  origin 
in  a  gineral  spitefulness  toward  Captain  Lumsden. 

Colonel  Wheeler's  son  was  dispatched  through  the 
settlement  to  inform  everybody  that  there  would  be 
preaching  in  his  house  that  evening.  The  news  was 
told  at  the  Forks,  where  there  was  always  a  crowd  of 
loafers ;  and  each  individual  loafer,  in  riding  home 
that  afternoon,  called  a  "Hello!"  at  every  house  he 
passed;  and  when  the  salutation  from  within  was  an- 
swered, remarked  that  he  "  thought  liker'n  not  they 
had'n  heern  tell  of  the  preacher's  comin'  to  Colonel 
Wheeler's."  And  then  the  eager  listener,  generally  the 
woman  of  the  house,  would  cry  out,  "  Laws-a-massy ! 
You  don't  say!  A  Methodis'?  One  of  the  shoutin' 
kind,  that  knocks  folks  down  when  he  preaches ! 
What  will  the  Captin'  do?  They  do  say  he  does  hate 
the  Methodis'  worse  nor  copperhead  snakes,  now. 
Some  old  quarrel,  liker'n  not.  Well,  I'm  agoin',  jist  to 
see  how  m/ikl'us  them  Methodis'  does  do !" 

The  news  was  sent  to  Brady's  school,  which  had 
"  tuck  up "  for  the  winter,  and  from  this  centre  also  it 
soon  spread  throughout  the  neighborhood.  It  reached 
Lumsden's  very  early  in  the  forenoon. 

"Well!"  said  Lumsden,  excitedly,  but  still  with  his 
little  crowing  chuckle;  "so  Wheeler's  took  the  Meth- 
odists in!  We'll  have  to  see  about  that.  A  man  that 
brings  such  people  to  the  settlement  ought  to  be 
lynched.  But  I'll  match  the  Methodists.  Where's 
Patty?  Patty!  O,  Patty!  Bob,  run  and  find  Miss 
Patty." 


THE    COMING   OP   THE   CIRCUIT  RIDER.        93 

And  the  little  negro  ran  out,  calling, <c  Miss  Patty ! 
O<  Miss  Patty!  Whah  is  ye?" 

He  looked  into  the  smoke-house,  and  then  ran 
down  toward  the  barn,  shouting,  -*Miss  Patty  t  OJ 
Miss  Patty!" 

Where  was  Patty? 


CHAPTER  X. 

PATTY    IN    THE    SPRING-HOUSE. 

TT)ATTY  had  that  morning  gone  to  the  spring-house, 

1       as  usual,  to  strain  the  milk. 

Can  it  be  possible  that  any  benighted  reader  does  not 
know  what  a  spring-house  is?  A  little  log  cabin  six 
feet  long  by  five  feet  wide,  without  floor,  built  where 
the  great  stream  of  water  issues  clear  and  icy  cold 
from  beneath  the  hill.  The  little  cabin-like  spring- 
house  sits  always  in  the  hollow;  as  you  approach  it 
you  look  down  upon  the  roof  of  rough  shingles  which 
Western  people  call  "clapboards,"  you  see  the  green 
moss  that  overgrows  them  and  the  logs,  you  see 
the  new-born  brook  rush  out  from  beneath  the  logs 
that  hide  its  cradle,  you  lift  the  home-made  latch  and 
open  the  low  door  which  creaks  on  its  wooden  hinges, 
you  see  the  great  perennial  spring  rushing  up  eagerly 
from  its  subterranean  prison,  you  note  how  its  clear 
cold  waters  lave  the  sides  of  the  earthen  crocks,  and 
in  the  dim  light  and  the  fresh  coolness,  in  the  pres- 
ence of  the  rich  creaminess,  you  feel  whole  eclogues 
of  poetry  which  you  can  never  turn  into  words. 

It  was  in  just  such  a  spring-house  that  Patty  Lums- 
den  had  hidden  herself. 

She  brought  clean  crocks — earthenware  milk  pans 
- — from  the  shelf  outside,  where  they  had  been  airing 
to  keep  them  sweet;  she  held  the  strainer  in  her  left 


PATTv    IN    THE    SPRING-HOUSE.  95 

hand  and  poured  the  milk  through  it  until  each  crock 
was  nearly  full ;  she  adjusted  them  in  their  places 
among  the  stones,  so  that  they  stood  half  immersed  in 
the  cold  current  of  spring  water;  she  laid  the  smooth 
pine  cover  on  each  crock,  and  put  a  clean  stone  atop 
that  to  secure  it. 

While  she  was  thus  putting  away  the  milk  her 
mind  was  on  Morton.  She  wondered  what  her  father 
had  said  to  him  yesterday.  In  the  heart  of  her  heart 
she  resolved  that  if  Morton  loved  her  she  would  mar- 
ry him  in  the  face  of  her  father's  displeasure.  She 
had  never  rebelled  against  the  iron  rule,  but  she  felt 
herself  full  of  power  and  full  of  endurance.  She  could 
go  off  into  the  wilderness  with  Morton;  they  would 
build  them  a  cabin,  with  chinking  and  daubing,  with 
puncheon  floor  and  stick  chimney;  they  would  sleep, 
like  other  poor  settlers,  on  beds  of  dry  leaves,  and  they 
would  subsist  upon  the  food  which  Morton's  unerring 
rifle  would  bring  them  from  the  forest.  These  were 
the  humble  cabin  castles  she  was  building.  All  girls 
weave  a  tapestry  of  the  future ;  on  Patty's  the  knight 
wore  buck-skin  clothes  and  a  wolf-skin  cap,  and 
brought  home,  not  the  shields  or  spoils  of  the  enemy, 
but  saddles  of  venison  and  luscious  bits  of  bear-meat 
to  a  lady  in  linsey  or  cheap  cotton  who  looked  out 
of  PO  balcony  but  a  cabin  window,  and  who  smoked 
her  eyes  with  hanging  pots  upon  a  crane  in  a  great 
fire-place.  I  know  it  sounds  old-fashioned  and  senti- 
mental in  me  to  bay  so,  and  yet  how  can  it  matter  to 
a  heart  like  Patty's  what  may  be  the  scenery  on  the 
tapestry,  if  love  be  the  warp  and  faith  the  woof? 


THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 


Morton  on  his  part  was  at  the  same  time  endeavor- 
ing to  plan  his  own  and  Patty's  partnership  future, 
but  he  drew  a  more  cheerful  picture  than  she  did, 
for  he  had  no  longer  any  reason  to  fear  Captain 
Lumsden's  displeasure.  He  was  at  the  moment  go- 
ing to  meet  the 
Captain,  walking 
down  the  foot-path 
through  the  woods, 
kicking  the  dry 
beech  leaves  into 
billows  before  him 


PATTY  IN  THE  SPRING-HOUSE. 

and  singing  a  Scotch  love -song  of  Burns's  which  he 
had  learned  from  his  mother* 


PATTY  IN    THE    SPRING-HOUSE.  9? 

He  planned  one  future,  she  another ;  and  in  after 
years  they  might  have  laughed  to  think  how  far  wrong 
were  both  guesses.  The  path  which  Morton  followed 
led  by  the  spring-house,  and  Patty,  standing  on  the 
stones  inside,  caught  the  sound  of  his  fine  baritone 
voice  as  he  approached,  singing  tender  words  that 
made  her  heart  stand  still: 

"  Ghaist  nor  bogle  shalt  thou  fear ; 
Thou'rt  to  love  and  heaven  sae  dear 
Nocht  of  ill  shall  come  thee  near, 
My  bonnie  dearie." 

And  as  he  came  right  by  the  spring-house,  he 
sang,  now  in  a  lower  tone  lest  he  should  be  heard  at 
the  house,  but  still  more  earnestly,  and  so  audibly 
that  the  listening  Patty  could  hear  every  word,  the 
last  stanza  : 

"  Fair  and  lovely  as  thou  art, 
Thou  hast  stown  my  very  heart ; 
I  can  die — but  cannot  part, 
My  bonnie  dearie." 

And  even  as  she  listened  to  the  last  line,  Morton 
had  dis*  overed  that  the  spring-house  door  was  ajar, 
and  turned,  shading  his  eyes,  to  see  if  perchance  Patty 
might  not  be  within.  He  saw  her  and  reached  out 
his  hand,  greeting  her  warmly  ;  but  his  eyes  yet  un- 
accustomed to  the  imperfect  light  did  not  see  how 
full  of  blushes  was  her  face — for  she  feared  that  he 
might  guess  all  that  she  had  just  been  dreaming.  But 
she  was  resolved  at  any  rate  to  show  him  more  kind- 
ness than  she  would  have  shown  had  it  not  been  for 
the  displeasure  which  she  supposed  her  father  had 


98  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

manifested  And  so  she  covered  the  last  crock  and 
came  and  stood  by  him  at  the  door  of  the  spring- 
house,  and  he  talked  right  on  in  the  tender  strain  of 
his  song.  And  she  did  not  protest,  but  answered 
back  timidly  and  almost  as  warmly. 

And  that  is  how  little  negro  Bob  at  last  found 
Patty  at  the  spring-house  and  found  Morton  with  her. 
"Law's  sake!  Miss  Patty,  done  look  for  ye  mos'  ev- 
erywhah.  Yer  paw  wants  ye."  And  with  that  Bob 
rolled  the  whites  of  his  eyes  up,  parted  his  black  lips 
into  a  broad  white  grin,  and  looked  at  Morton  know- 
ingly. 


CHAPTER  X2. 

THE    VOICE    IN    THE    WILDERNESS. 

> 

*T  TA!  ha!  good  morning,  Morton  !"  said  the  Captain. 
A  JL  "  You've  been  keeping  Patty  down  at  the  spring- 
house  when  she  should  have  been  at  the  loom  by  this 
time.  In  my  time  young  men  and  women  didn't 
waste  their  mornings.  Nights  and  Sundays  are  good 
enough  for  visiting.  Now,  see  here,  Patty,  there's  one 
of  them  plagued  Methodist  preachers  brought  into  the 
settlement  by  Wheeler.  These  circuit  riders  are  worse 
than  third  day  fever  V  ager.  They  go  against  danc- 
ing and  artificials  and  singing  songs  and  reading 
novels  and  all  other  amusements.  \  They  give  people 
the  jerks  wherever  they  go.  The  devil's  in  'em.  Now 
I  want  you  to  go  to  work  and  get  up  a  dance  to- 
night, and  ask  all  you  can  get  along  with.  Nothing 
'11  make  the  preacher  so  mad  as  to  dance  right  under 
his  nose ;  and  we'll  keep  a  good  many  people  away 
who  might  get  the  jerks,  or  fall  down  with  the  power 
and  break  their  necks,  maybe." 

Patty  was  always  ready  to  dance,  and  she  only 
said:  "If  Morton  will  help  me  send  the  invitations." 

"I'll  do  that,"  said  Morton,  and  then  he  told  of 
the  discomfiture  he  had  wrought  in  a  Methodist 
meeting  while  he  was  gone.  And  he  had  the  satis- 
faction of  seeing  that  the  narrative  greatly  pleased 
Captain  Lumsden. 


100  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

"We'll  have  to  send  Wheeler  afloat  sometime,  eh, 
Mort?"  said  the  Captain,  chuckling  interrogatively. 
Morton  did  not  like  this  proposition,  for,  notwith- 
standing theological  differences  about  election,  Mrs. 
Wheeler  was  a  fast  friend  of  his  mother.  He  evaded 
an  answer  by  hastening  to  consult  with  Patty  and  her 
mother  concerning  the  guests. 

Those  who  got  "  invites"  danced  cotillions  and 
reels  nearly  all  night.  Morton  danced  with  Patty  to 
his  heart's  content,  and  in  the  happiness  of  Morton's 
assured  love  and  of  a  truce  in  her  father's  interrup- 
tions she  was  a  queen  indeed.  She  wore  the  antique 
earrings  that  were  an  heir-loom  in  her  mother's  fami- 
ly, and  a  showy  breast-pin  which  her  father  had 
bought  her.  These  and  her  new  dress  of  English 
calico  made  her  the  envy  of  all  the  others.  Pretty 
Bettv  Harsha  was  led  out  by  some  one  at  almost 
every  dance,  but  she  would  have  given  all  of  these 
for  one  dance  with  Morton  Goodwin. 

Meantime  Mr.  Magruder  was  preaching.  Behold 
in  Hissawachee  Bottom  the  world's  evils  in  miniature  ! 
Here  are  religion  and  amusement  divorced — set  over 
the  one  against  the  other  as  hostile  camps. 

Brady,  who  was  boarding  for  a  few  days  with  the 
widow  Lumsden,  went  to  the  meeting  with  Kike  and 
his  mother,  explaining  his  views  as  he  went  along. 

"  I'm  no  Mithodist,  Mrs.  Lumsden.  Me  father 
was  a  Catholic  and  me  mother  a  Prisbytarian,  and 
they  compromised  on  me  by  making  me  a  mimber  of 
the  Episcopalian  Church  and  throyin'  to  edicate  me 
for  orders,  and  mteit^lv  spoiling  me  for  iverything 


THE    VOICE  IN   THE    WILDF,RNES&          101 


else  but  a  school  taycher  in  these  hayttien 
But  it  does  same  to  me  that  the  Mithodists  air  the 
only  payple  that  can  do  any  good  among  sich  pagans 
as  we  air.  What  would  a  parson  from  the  ould  coun- 
thry  do  here?  He  moight  spake  as  grammathical  as 
Lindley  Murray  himsilf,  and  nobody  would  be  the 
better  of  it.  What  good  does  me  own  grammathical 
acquoirements  do  towards  reforming  the  sittlement  ? 
With  all  me  grammar  I  can't  kape  me  boys  from 
makin'  God's  name  the  nominative  case  before  very  bad 
words.  Hey,  Koike  ?  Now,  the  Mithodists  air  a  nar- 
ry  sort  of  a  payple.  But  if  you  want  to  make  a  strame 
strong  you  hev  to  make  it  narry.  I've  read  a  good 
dale  of  history,  and  in  me  own  estimation  the  ould 
Anglish  Puritans  and  the  Mithodists  air  both  torrents, 
because  they're  both  shet  up  by  narry  banks.  The 
Mithodists  is  ferninst  the  wearin'  of  jewelry  and  danc- 
in'  and  singin'  songs,  which  is  all  vairy  foolish  in  me 
own  estimation.  But  it's  kind  o'  nat'ral  for  the  mill- 
race  that  turns  the  whale  that  fades  the  worruld  to 
git  mad  at  the  babblin',  oidle  brook  that  wastes  its 
toime  among  the  mossy  shtones  and  grinds  nobody's 
grist.  But  the  brook  ain't  so  bad  afther  all  Hey, 
Mrs.  Lumsden  ?" 

Mrs.  Lumsden  answered  that  she  didn't  think  it 
was.  It  was  very  good  for  watering  stock. 

"Thrue  as  praychin',  Mrs.  Lumsden,"  said  the 
schoolmaster,  with  a  laugh.  "And  to  me  own  oi  the 
wanderin'  brook,  a-goin'  where  it  chooses  and  doin1 
wliat  it  plazes,  is  a  dale  plizenter  to  look  at  than  the 
sthraight-travelin'  mill-race.  But  I  wish  these  Mitkod- 


,102  <         ^THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

ists  would  convart  the  souls  of  some  of  these  young' 
sters,  and  make  'em  quit  their  gamblin*  and  swearin 
and  bettin*  on  horses  and  gettin'  dthrunk.  And  may- 
be if  some  of  'em  would  git  convarted,  they  wouldn** 
be  quoite  so  anxious  to  skelp  their  own  uncles.  Hej 
Koike  ?" 

Kike  had  no  time  to  reply  if  he  had  cared  to,  foi 
by  this  time  they  were  at  the  door  of  Colonel  Wheel- 
er's house.  Despite  the  dance  there  were  present, 
from  near  and  far,  all  the  house  would  hold.  For 
those  who  got  no  "  invite"  to  Lumsden's  had  a  double 
motive  for  going  to  meeting;  a  disposition  to  resent 
the  slight  was  added  to  their  curiosity  to  hear  the 
Methodist  preacher.  The  dance  had  taken  away  those 
who  were  most  likely  to  disturb  the  meeting ;  people 
left  out  did  not  feel  under  any  obligation  to  gratify 
Captain  Lumsden  by  raising  a  row.  Kike  had  been 
invited,  but  had  disdained  to  dance  in  his  uncle's 
house. 

Both  lower  rooms  of  Wheeler's  log  house  were 
crowded  with  people.  A  little  open  space  was  left  at 
the  door  between  the  rooms  for  the  preacher,  who 
presently  came  edging  his  way  in  through  the  crowd. 
He  had  been  at  prayer  in  that  favorite  oratory  of  the 
early  Methodist  preacher,  the  forest. 

Magruder  was  a  short,  stout  man,  with  wide  shoul- 
ders, powerful  arms,  shaggy  brows,  and  bristling  black 
hair.  He  read  the  hymn,  two  lines  at  a  time,  and  led 
the  singing  himself.  He  prayed  with  the  utmost  sin* 
cerity,  but  in  a  voice  that  shook  the  cabin  windows 
and  gave  the  simple  people  a  deeper  reverence  for  the 


THE    VOICE   IN   THE    WILDERNESS.          103 

dreadfulness  of  the  preacher's  message.  He  prayed  as  i 
a  man  talking  face  to  face  with  the  Almighty  Judge  of 
me  generations  of  men ;  he  prayed  with  an  undoubt- 
,ing  assurance  of  his  own  acceptance  with  God,  and 
with  the  sincerest  conviction  of  the  infinite  peril  of 
Jiis  unforgiven  hearers.  It  is  not  argument  that  reach- 
es 2nen,  but  conviction;  and  for  immediate,  practical 
purposes,  one  Tishbite  Elijah,  that  can  thunder  out  of 
a  heart  that  never  doubts,  is  worth  a  thousand  acute 
writers  of  ingenious  apologies. 

When  Magruder  read  his  text,  which  was,  "  Grieve 
not  the  Holy  Spirit  of  God,"  he  seemed  to  his  hear- 
ers a  prophet  come  to  lay  bare  their  hearts.  Magru- 
der had  not  been  educated  for  his  ministry  by  years 
of  study  of  Hebrew  and  Greek,  of  Exegesis  and  Sys- 
tematics ;  but  he  knew  what  was  of  vastly  more  con- 
sequence to  him — how  to  read  and  expound  the  hearts 
and  lives  of  the  impulsive,  simple,  reckless  race  Ai&ong 
who'm  he  labored.  He  was  of  their  very  fibre. 

He  commenced  with  a  fierce  attack  on  Captain 
Lurasden's  dance,  which  was  prompted,  he  said,  by  ihe 
devil,  to  keep  men  out  of  heaven.  With  half  a  dcxen 
quick,  bold  strokes,  he  depicted  Lumsden's  selfish  ar- 
rogance and  proud  meanness  so  exactly  that  the  au- 
dience fluttered  with  sensation.  Magruder  had  a  vfca- 
rious  conscience ;  but  a  vicarious  conscience  is  good 
for  nothing  unless  it  first  cuts  close  at  home.  White- 
field  said  that  he  never  preached  a  sermon  to  others  till 
he  had  first  preached  it  to  George  Whitefield ;  and  Ma» 
gruder's  severities  had  all  the  more  effect  that  his  au- 
dience could  see  that  they  had  full  force  upon  himself 


104  /  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

/It  is  hard  for  us  to  understand  the  elements  that 
produced  such  incredible  excitements  as  resulted  from 
the  early  Methodist  preaching.  How  at  a  camp-meet- 
ing, for  instance,  five  hundred  people,  indifferent 
enough  to  everything  of  the  sort  one  hour  before, 
should  be  seized  during  a  sermon  with  terror — should 
cry  aloud  to  God  for  mercy,  some  of  them  falling  in 
trances  and  cataleptic  unconsciousness ;  and  how,  out 
of  all  this  excitement,  there  should  come  forth,  in  very 
many  cases,  the  fruit  of  transformed  lives  seems  to  us 

/  a  puzzle  beyond  solution.  But  the  early  Westerners 
were  as  inflammable  as  tow;  they  did  not  deliberate, 
they  were  swept  Into  most  of  their  decisions  by  con- 
tagious excitements.  And  never  did  any  class  of  men 
understand  the  art  of  exciting  by  oratory  more  per- 
fectly than  the  old  Western  preachers.  The  simple 
hunters  to  whom  they  preached  had  the  most  abso- 
lute faith  in  the  invisible.  The  Day  of  Judgment,  the 
doom  of  the  wicked,  and  the  blessedness  of  the  right- 
eous were  as  real  and  substantial  in  their  conception 
as  any  facts  in  life.  They  could  abide  no  refinements. 
{/The  terribleness  of  Indian  warfare,  the  relentlessness 

,.  lof  their  own  revengefulness,  tKe  sudden  lynchings,  the 
\abandoned  wickedness  of  the  lawless,  and  the  ruthless- 
toess  of  mobs  of  "  regulators "  were  a  background  upon 
(^rhich  they  founded  the  most  materialistic  conception 
of  hell  and  the  most  literal  understanding  of  the  Day 
of  Judgment.  Men  like  Magruder  knew  how  to  handle 
these  few  positive  ideas  of  a  future  life  so  that  they 

were  indeed  terrible  weapons. 

On  this  evening  he    seized  upon  the  particular  sins 


THE    VOICE    IN    THE    WILDERNESS.     •      105 

of  the  people  as  things  by  which  they  drove  away  the 
Spirit  of  God.  The  audience  trembled  as  he  moved 
on  in  his  rude  speech  and  solemn  indignation.  Every 
man  found  himself  in  turn  called  to  the  bar  of  his 
own  conscience.  There  was  excitement  throughout 
the  house.  Some  were  angry,  some  sobbed  aloud,  as 
he  alluded  to  "  promises  made  to  dying  friends,'* 
"  vows  offered  to  God  by  the  new-made  graves  of 
children," — for  pioneer  people  are  very  susceptible 
to  all  such  appeals  .to  sensibility. 

When  at  last  he  came  to  speak  of  revenge,  Kike, 
who  had  listened  intently  from  the  first,  found  himself 
breathing  hard.  The  preacher  showed  how  the  re 
vengeful  man  was  "  as  much  a  murderer  as  if  he  had 
already  killed  his  enemy  and  hid  his  mangled  body  in 
the  leaves  of  the  woods  where  none  but  the  wolf  could 
ever  find  him !" 

At  these  words  he  turned  to  the  part  of  the  room 
where  Kike  sat,  white  with  feeling.  Magruder,  look- 
ing always  for  the  effect  of  his  arrows,  noted  Kike's 
emotion  and  paused.  The  house  was  utterly  still, 
save  now  and  then  a  sob  from  some  anguish-smitten 
soul.  The  people  were  sitting  as  if  waiting  their 
doom.  Kike  already  saw  in  his  imagination  the  mu-:" 
tilated  form  of  his  uncle  Enoch  nidden  in  the  leaves 
and  scented  by  hungry  wolves.  He  waited  to  hear 
his  own  sentence.  Hitherto  the  preacher  had  spoken 
with  vehemence.  Now,  he  stopped  and  began  again 
with  tears,  and  in  a  tone  broken  with  emotion,  look- 
ing in  a  general  way  toward  where  Kike  sat :  "  Or 
young  man,  there  are  stains  of  blood  on  your  hands! 


106  THE    CIRCUIT   RIDER. 

How  dare  you  hold  them  up  before  the  Judge  of  all? 
You  are  another  Cain,  and  God  sends  his  messenger 
to  you  to-day  to  inquire  after  him  whom  you  have 
already  killed  in  your  heart.  You  are  a  murderer! 
Nothing  but  God's  mercy  can  snatch  you  from  hell !" 

No  doubt  all  this  is  rude  in  refined  ears.  But  is 
it  nothing  that  by  these  rude  words  he  laid  bare 
Kike's  sins  to  Kike's  conscience  ?  That  in  this  mo- 
ment Kike  heard  the  voice  of  God  denouncing  his 
sins,  and  trembled  ?  Can  you  do  a  man  any  higher 
service  than  to  make  him  know  himself,  in  the  light 
of  the  highest  sense  of  right  that  he  capable  of? 
Kike,  for  his  part,  bowed  to  the  rebuke  of  the  preach- 
er as  to  the  rebuke  of  God.  His  frail  frame  shook 
with  fear  and  penitence,  as  it  had  before  shaken  with 
wrath.  "  O,  God  !  what  a  wretch  I  am  !"  cried  he, 
hiding  his  face  in  his  hands. 

"  Thank  God  for  showing  it  to  you,  my  young 
•/•-  friend, "  responded  the  preacher.  "  What  a  wonder 
that  your  sins  did  not  drive  away  the  Holy  Ghost, 
leaving  you  with  your  day  of  grace  sinned  away,  as 
good  as  damned  already !  "  And  with  this  he  turned 
and  appealed  yet  more  powerfully  to  the  rest,  already 
excited  by  the  fresh  contagion  of  Kike's  penitence, 
until  there  were  cries  and  sobs  in  all  parts  of  the 
house.  Some  left  in  haste  to  avoid  yielding  to  their 
feeling,  while  many  fell  upon  their  knees  and  prayed. 

The  preacher  now  thought  it  time  to  change,  and 
offer  some  consolation.  You  would  say  that  his  view 
of  the  atonement  was  crude,  conventional  and  com- 
mercial ]  that  he  mistook  figures  of  speech  in  Scripture 


THE    VOICE   IN    THE    WILDERNESS.          102 

for  general  and  formulated  postulates.  But  however  fc»/' 
imperfect  his  symbols,  he  succeeded  in  making  know»  i/" 
to  his  hearers  the  mercy  of  God.  And  surely  that  isr 
the  main  thing.  The  figure  of  speech  is  but  the  ves- 
sel; the  $reat  truth  that  God  is  merciful  to  the  guilty, 
what  is  this  but  the  water  of  life  ? — not  less  refreshing 
because  the  jar  in  which  it  is  brought  is  rude !  The 
preacher's  whole  manner  changed.  Many  weeping  and 
sobbing  people  were  swept  now  to  the  other  extreme, 
and  ^.ried  aloud  with  joy.  Perhaps  Magruder  ex- 
aggerated the  change  that  had  taken  place  in  them. 
But  is  it  nothing  that  a  man  has  bowed  his  soul  in 
penitence  before  God's  justice,  and  then  lifted  his  face 
in  childlike  trust  to  God's  mercy  ?  It  is  hard  for  one 
who  has  once  passed  though  this  experience  not 
to  date  from  it  a  revolution.  There  were  many  who 
had  not  much  root  in  themselves,  doubtless,  but  among 
Magruder's  hearers  this  day  were  those  who,  living 
half  a  century  afterward,  counted  their  better  living 
from  the  hour  of  his  forceful  presentation  of  God's  an- 
tagonism to  sin,  and  God's  tender  mercy  for  the  sinner. 
It  was  not  in  Kike  to  change  quickly.  Smitten 
with  a  sense  of  his  guilt,  he  rose  from  his  seat  and 
slowly  knelt,  quivering  with  feeling.  When  the  preach- 
er had  finished  preaching,  amid  cries  of  sorrow  and 
joy,  he  began  to  sing,  to  an  exquisitely  pathetic 
Watts'  hymn: 

u  Show  pity,  Lord,  O  !  Lord,  forgive, 
Let  a  repenting  rebel  live. 
Are  not  thy  mercies  large  and  free? 
May  not  a  sinner  trust  in  thee?" 


108  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

The  meeting  was  held  until  late.  Kike  remained 
quietly  kneeling,  the  tears  trickling  through  his  ringers. 
He  did  not  utttr  a  word  or  cry.  In  all  the  confusion 
he  was  still.  What  deliberate  recounting  of  his  own 
misdoings  took  place  then,  no  one  can  know.  Thought- 
less readers  may  scoff  at  the  poor  backwoods  boy  in 
his  trouble.  But  who  of  us  would  not  be  better  if 
y  we  could  be  brought  thus  face  to  face  with  our  own 
souls  ?  His  simple  penitent  faith  did  more  for  him 
than  all  our  philosophy  has  done  for  us,  maybe. 

At  last  the  meeting  was  dismissed.  Brady,  who 
had  been  awe-stricken  at  sight  of  Kike's  agony  of 
contrition,  now  thought  it  best  that  he  and  Kike's 
mother  should  go  home,  leaving  the  young  man  to 
I  follow  when  he  chose.  But  Kike  staid  immovable, 
upon  his  knees.  His  sense  of  guilt  had  become  an 
agony.  All  those  allowances  which  we  in  a  more  in- 
telligent age  make  for  inherited  peculiarities  and  the 
defects  of  education,  Kike  knew  nothing  about.  He 
believed  all  his  revengefulness  to  be  voluntary ;  he 
had  a  feeling  that  unless  he  found  some  assurance  of 
God's  mercy  then  he  could  not  live  till  morning.  So 
the  minister  and  Mrs.  Wheeler  and  two  or  three 
brethren  that  had  come  from  adjoining  settlements 
staid  and  prayed  and  talked  with  the  distressed  youth 
until  after  midnight.  The  ^arly  Methodists  regarded 
this  persistence  as  a  sure  sign  of  a  "  sound  "  awakening. 

At  last  the  preacher  knelt  again  by  Kike,  and 
asked  "  Sister  Wheeler "  to  pray.  There  was  nothing 
in  the  old  Methodist  meetings  so  excellent  as  the 
audible  prayers  of  women.  Women  oftener  than  men. 


THE    VOICE    IN    THE    WILDERNESS.         109- 

have  a  genius  for  prayer.  Mrs.  Wheeler  began  tend- 
erly, penitently  to  confess,  not  -Kike's  sins,  but  the 
sins  of  all  of  them ;  her  penitence  fell  in  with  Kike's ; 
she  confessed  the  very  sins»that  he  was  grieving  over. 
Then  slowly — slowly,  as  one  who  waits  for  another  to 
follow — she  began  to  turn  toward  trustfulness.  Like  a 
little  child  she  spoke  to  God ;  under  the  influence  of 
her  praying  Kike  sobbed  audibly.  Then  he  seemed  t»  > 
feel  the  contagion  of  her  faith ;  he,  too,  looked  to  God 
as  a  father ;  he,  too,  felt  the  peace  of  a  trustful  child. 

The  great  struggle  was  over.  Kike  was  revenge- 
ful no  longer.  He  was  distrustful  and  terrified  no 
longer.  He  had  "  crept  into  the  heart  of  God  "  and 
found  rest.  Call  it  what  you  like,  when  a  man  passes 
through  such  an  experience,  however  induced,  it  sepa- 
rates the  life  that  is  passed  from  the  life  that  follows 
by  a  great  gulf. 

Kike,  the  new  Kike,  forgiving  and  forgiven,  rose 
up  at  the  close  of  the  prayer,  and  with  a  peaceful 
face  shook  hands  with  the  preacher  and  the  brethren, 
rejoicing  in  this  new  fellowship.  He  said  nothing,, 
but  when  Magruder  sang 

"  Oh  !  how  happy  are  they 
Who  their  Saviour  obey, 

And  have  laid  up  their  treasure  abore  J 
Tongue  can  never  express 
The  sweet  comfort  and  peace 

Of  a  soul  in  its  earliest  love," 

Kike  shook  hands  with  them  all  again,  bade  them 
good-night,  and  went  home  about  the  time  that  his 
friend  Morion,  flushed  and  weary  with  dancing  and 
pleasure,  laid  himself  down  to  rest. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

MR.    BRADY    PROPHESIES. 

THE  Methodists  had  actually  made  a  break  in  the 
settlement.  Dancing  had  not  availed  to  keep  them 
out.  It  was  no  longer  a  question  of  getting  "  shet " 
of  Wheeler  and  his  Methodist  wife,  thus  extirpating 
the  contagion.  There  would  now  be  a  "  class  "  form- 
ed, a  leader  appointed,  a  regular  preaching  place  es- 
tablished ;  Hissawachee  would  become  part  of  that 
great  wheel  called  a  circuit;  there  would  be  revivals 
and  conversions ;  the  peace  of  the  settlement  would  be 
destroyed.  For  now  one  might  never  again  dance  at 
a  "hoe-down,"  drink  whiskey  at  a  shuckin',  or  race 
41  hosses "  on  Sunday,  without  a  lecture  from  some- 
body. It  might  be  your  own  wife,  too.  Once  let  the 
Methodists  in,  and  there  was  no  knowm'. 

Lumsden,  for  his  part,  saw  more  serious  consequen- 
ces. By  his  opposition,  he  had  unfortunately  spoken 
for  the  enmity  of  the  Methodists  in  advance.  The 
preacher  had  openly  defied  him.  Kike  would  join  the 
class,  and  the  Methodists  would  naturally  resist  his  as- 
cendancy. No  concession  on  his  part  short  of  abso- 
lute surrender  would  avail.  He  resolved  therefore 
that  the  Methodists  should  find  out  "  who  they  were 
fighting." 

Brady  was  pleased.  Gossips  are  always  delighted 
*«  have  something  happen  out  of  the  usual  course.  It 


MR.  BRADY  PROPHECIES.  \\\ 

gives  them  a  theme,  something  to  exercise  their  wits 
upon.  Let  us  not  be  too  hard  upon  gossip.  It  is  one 
form  of  communicative  intellectual  activity.  Brady, 
under  different  conditions,  might  have  been  a  journal-  J 
ist,  writing  relishful  leaders  on  "  topics  of  the  time." 
For  what  is  journalism  but  elevated  and  organized 
gossip?  The  greatest  benefactor  of  an  out-of-the-way 
neighborhood  is  the  man  or  woman  with  a  talent  for 
good-natured  gossip.  Such  an  one  averts  absolute  men- 
tal stagnation,  diffuses  intelligence,  and  keeps  alive  a 
healthful  public  opinion  on  local  questions. 

Brady  wanted  to  taste  some  of  Mrs.  Goodwin's 
"  ry-al  hoe-cake."  That  was  the  reason  he  assigned  for 
his  visit  on  the  evening  after  the  meeting.  He  was 
always  hungry  for  hoe-cake  when  anything  had  hap- 
pened about  which  he  wanted  to  talk.  But  on  this  \ 
evening  Job  Goodwin  got  the  lead  in  conversation  at 
first. 

"  Mr.  Brady,"  said  he,  "  what's  going  to  happen  to 
us  all  ?  These  Methodis'  sets  people  crazy  with  the 
jerks,  I've  hearn  tell.  Hey?  I  hear  dreadful  things 
about  'em.  Oh  dear,  it  seems  like  as  if  everything 
come  upon  folks  at  once.  Hey?  The  fever's  spread- 
in'  at  Chilicothe,  they  tell  me.  And  then,  if  we  should 
git  into  a  war  with  England,  you  know,  and  the  In. 
dians  should  come  and  skelp  us,  they'd  be  precious 
few  left,  betwixt  them  that  went  crazy  and  them  that 
got  skelped.  Precious  few,  /  tell  you.  Hey?" 

Here  Mr.  Goodwin  knocked  the  ashes  out  of  his 
pipe  and  laid  it  away,  and  punched  the  fire  medita- 
tively, endeavoring  to  discover  in  his  imagination  some 


112 


THE    CIRCUIT   RIDER. 


new  and  darker  pigment  for  his  picture  of  the  future. 
But  failing  to  think  of  anything  more  lugubrious  than 
Methodists,  Indi- 
ans, and  fever,  he 
set  the  tongs  in  the 
corner,  heaved  a 
sigh  of  discourage- 
ment, and  looked  at 
Brady  inquiringly. 

"  Ye 're  loike  the 
hootin'  owl,  Mis- 
ther  Goodwin ;  it's 
the  black  side  ye 're 
afther  lookin'  at  all 
the  toime.  Where's 
Moirton?  He  aint 
been  to  school  yet 
since  this  quarter 
took  up." 

"Morton?  He's 
got  to  stay  out,  I 
expect.  My  rheumatiz  is  mighty  bad,  and  I'm  powerful 
weak.  I  don't  think  craps  '11  be  good  next  year,  and 
I  expect  we'll  hc.,ve  a  hard  row  to  hoe,  partic'lar  if  we 
all  have  the  fever,  and  the  Methodis'  keep  up  their 
excitement  and  driving  people  crazy  with  jerks,  and 
war  breaks  out  with  England,  and  the  Indians  come  on 
us.  But  here's  Mort  now." 

"Ha!  Moirton,  and  ye  wasn't  at  matin'  last  noight? 
Ye  heerd  fwat  a  toime  we  had.  Most  iverybody  got 
struck  harmless,  «txcipt  mesilf  and  a  few  otter  hard* 


JOB  GOODWIN. 


MR.  BRADY  PROPHECIES.  113 

ened  sinners.  Ye  heerd  about  Koike?  I  reckon  the 
Captain's  good  and  glad  he's  got  the  blissin';  it's  a 
warrantee  on  the  Captain's  skull,  maybe.  Fwat  would 
ye  do  for  a  crony  now,  Moirton,  if  Koike  come  to  be 
a  praycher?" 

"  He  aint  such  a  fool,  I  guess,"  said  Morton,  with 
whom  Kike's  "  getting  religion "  was  an  unpleasant 
topic.  "  It'll  all  wear  off  with  Kike  soon  enough." 

"  Don't  be  too  shore,  Moirton.  Things  wear  ofT 
with  you,  sometoimes.  Ye  swear  ye'll  niver  swear  no 
more,  and  ye 're  willin'  to  bet  that  ye'll  niver  bet  agin, 
and  ye 're  always  a-talkin'  about  a  brave  loife ;  but  the 
flesh  is  ferninst  ye.  When  Koike's  bad,  he's  bad  all 
over;  lickin'  won't  take  it  out  of  him;  I've  throid  it 
mesilf.  Now  he's  got  good,  the  divil  '11  have  as  hard 
a  toime  makin'  him  bad  as  I  had  makin'  him  good. 
I'm  roight  glad  it's  the  divil  now,  and.  not  his  school- 
masther,  as  has  got  to  throy  to  handle  the  lad.  Got 
ivery  lisson  to-day,  and  didn't  break  a  single  rule  of 
the  school !  What  do  you  say  to  that,  Moirton  ?  The 
divil's  got  his  hands  full  thair.  Hey,  Moirton  ?" 

"Yes,  but  he'll  never  be  a  preacher.  He  wants  to 
get  rich  just  to  spite  the  Captain." 

"  But  the  spoite's  clean  gone  with  the  rist,  Moirton. 
And  he'll  be  a  praycher  yit.  Didn't  he  give  me  a 
talkin'  to  this  mornin',  at  breakfast  ?  Think  of  the  im- 
pudent little  scoundrel  a-venturin'  to  tell  his  ould  mas- 
ther  that  he  ought  to  repint  of  his  sins!  He  talked 
to  his  mother,  too,  till  she  croid.  He'll  make  her  be- 
lave  she  is  a  great  sinner  whin  she  aint  wicked  a  bit, 
excipt  in  her  grammar,  which  couldn't  be  worse,  I've 


114  THE    CrRCUIT.    RIDER. 

talked  to  her  about  that  mesilf.  Now,  Moirton,  I'll 
tell  ye  the  symptoms  of  a  praycher  among  the  Mith* 
odists.  Those  that  take  it  aisy,  and  don't  bother  a 
body,  you  needn't  be  afeard  of.  But  those  that  git  it 
bad,  and  are  throublesome,  and  middlesome,  and  ag* 
gravatin',  ten  to  one  '11  turn  out  praychers.  The  lad 
that'll  tackle  his  masther  and  his  mother  at  breakfast 
the  very  mornin'  afther  he's  got  the  blissin,  while  he's 
yit  a  babe,  so  to  spake,  and  prayuhe  to  'em  single- 
handed,  two  to  one,  is  a-takin'  the  short  cut  acrost  the 
faild  to  be  a  praycher  of  the  worst  sort ;  one  of  the 
kind  that's  as  thorny  as  a  honey-locust." 

"Well,  why  can't  they  be  peaceable,  and  let  other 
people  alone?  That  meddling  is  just  what  I  don't 
like,"  growled  Morton. 

"  Bedad,  Moirton,  that's  jist  fwat  Ahab  and  Jizebel 
thought  about  ould  Elijy !  We  don't  any  of  us  loike  to 
have  our  wickedness  or  laziness  middled  with.  'Twas 
middlin',  sure,  that  the  Pharisays  objicted  to;  and  if 
the  blissed  Jaysus  hadn't,  been  so  throublesome,  he 
wouldn't  niver  a  been  crucified." 

"  Why,  Brady,  you'll  be  a  Methodist  yourself,"  said 
Mr.  Job  Goodwin. 

"  Niver  a  bit  of  it,  Mr.  Goodwin.  I'm  rale  lazy. 
This  lookin'  at  the  state  of  me  moind's  insoides,  and 
this  chasm'  afther  me  sins  up  hill  and  down  dale  all 
.  /  the  toime,  would  niver  agray  with  me  frail  constitoo- 
tion.  This  havin'  me  spiritooal  pulse  examined  ivery 
wake  in  class -matin',  and  this  watchin'  and  .prayin', 
aren't  for  sich  oidlers  as  me.  I'm  too  good-natered  to 
trate  mesilf  that  wav.  sure.  Didn't  you  iver  notice 


MR.  BRADY   PROPHECIES.  115 

that  the  highest  vartoos  ain't  possible  to  a  rale  good- 
nater'd  man?" 

Here  Mrs.  Goodwin  looked  at  the  cake  on  the  hoe 
in  front  of  the  fire,  and  found  it  well  browned.  Sup- 
per was  ready,  and  the  conversation  drifted  to  Mor- 
ton's prospective  arrangement  with  Captain  Lumsden 
to  cultivate  his  hill  farm  on  the  "sheers."  Morton's 
father  shook  his  head  ominously.  Didn't  believe  the 
Captain  was  in  'arnest.  Ef  he  was,  Mort  mout  git  the 
fever  in  the  winter,  or  die,  or  be  laid  up.  'Twouldn't 
do  to  depend  on  no  sech  promises,  no  way. 

But,  notwithstanding  his  father's  croaking,  Morton 
did  hold  to  the  Captain's  promise,  and  to  the  hope 
of  Patty.  To  the  Captain's  plans  for  mobbing  Wheeler 
he  offered  a  strong  resistance.  But  he  was  ready 
enough  to  engage  in  making  sport  of  the  despised 
religionists,  and  even  organized  a  party  to  interrupt 
Magruder  with  tin  horns  when  he  should  preach 
again.  But  all  this  time  Morton  was  uneasy  in  him- 
self. What  had  become  of  his  dreams  of  being  a 
hero  ?  Here  was  Kike  bearing  all  manner  of  perse- 
cution with  patience,  devoting  himself  to  the  welfare  of 
others,  while  all  his  own  purposes  of  noble  and  knight- 
ly living  were  hopelessly  sunk  in  a  morass  of  adverse 
circumstances.  One  of  Morton's  temperament  must 
either  grow  better  or  worse,  and,  chafing  under  these 
embarassments,  he  played  and  drank  more  freely  than 
ever. 

F 


CHAPTER   XII 7. 

TWO     TO    ONE. 

MAGRUDER  had  been  so  pleased  with  his  success 
in  organizing  a  class  in  the  Hissawachee  settle- 
ment that  he  resolved  to  favor  them  with  a  Sunday 
sermon  on  his  next  round.  He  was  accustomed  to 
preach  twice  every  week-day  and  three  times  on  every 
Sunday,  after  the  laborious  manner  of  the  circuit- 
rider  of  his  time.  And  since  he  expected  to  leave 
Hissawachee  as  soon  as  meeting  should  be  over,  for 
his  next  appointment,  he  determined  to  reach  the  set- 
tlement before  breakfast  that  he  might  have  time  to 
confirm  the  brethren  and  set  things  in  order. 

When  the  Sunday  set  apart  for  the  second  sermon 
drew  near,  Morton,  with  the  enthusiastic  approval  of 
Captain  Lumsden,  made  ready  his  tin  horns  to  inter- 
rupt the  preacher  with  a  serenade.  But  Lumsden  had 
other  plans  of  which  Morton  had  no  knowledge. 

John  Wesley's  rule  was,  that  a  preacher  should 
rise  at  four  o'clock  and  spend  the  hour  until  five  in 
reading,  meditation  and  prayer.  Five  o'clock  found 
Magruder  in  the  saddle  on  his  way  to  Hissawachee, 
reflecting  upon  the  sermon  he  intended  to  preach. 
When  he  had  ridden  more  than  an  hour,  keeping  him- 
self company  by  a  lusty  singing  of  hymns,  he  came 
suddenly  out  upon  the  brow  of  a  hill  overlooking  the 
Hissawachee  valley.  The  gray  dawn  was  streaking 


TWO    TO    ONE.  317 

the  clouds,  the  preacher  checked  his  horse  and  looked 
forth  on  the  valley  just  disclosing  its  salient  features 
in  the  twilight,  as  a  General  looks  over  a  battle-field 
before  the  engagement  begins.  Then  he  dismounted, 
and,  kneeling  upon  the  leaves,  prayed  with  apostolic 
fervor  for  victory  over  "  the  hosts  of  sin  and  the 
devil."  When  at  last  he  got  into  the  saddle  again 
the  winter  sun  was  sending  its  first  horizontal  beams 
into  his  eyes,  and  all  the  eastern  sky  was  ablaze. 
Magruder  had  the  habit  of  turning  the  whole  universe 
to  spiritual  account,  and  now,  as  he  descended  the 
hill,  he  made  the  woods  ring  with  John  Wesley's 
hymn,  which  might  have  been  composed  in  the  pres- 
ence of  such  a  scene  : 

"O  sun  of  righteousness,  arise 
With  healing  in  thy  wing  ; 
To  my  diseased,  my  fainting  soul, 
Life  and  salvation  bring. 

"  These  clouds  of  pride  and  sin  dispel, 

By  thy  all-piercing  beam  ; 
Lighten  my  eyes  with  faith  ;   my  heart 
With  holy  hopes  inflame.''' 

By  the  time  he  had  finished  the  second  stanza,  the 
bridle-path  that  he  was  following  brought  him  into  a 
dense  forest  of  beech  and  maple,  and  he  saw  walking 
toward  him  two  stout  men,  none  other  than  our  old 
acquaintances,  Bill  McConkey  and  Jake  Sniger. 

"Looky  yer,"  said  Bill,  catching  the  preacher's 
horse  by  the  bridle  :  "you  git  down!" 

"  What  for  ?"  said  Magruder. 

"We're    goin'   to   lick   you   tell   you  promise  to  go 


118 


THE    CIRCUIT   RIDER. 


back  ana  never  stick  your  head  into  the  Hissawachee 
Bottom  agin." 

"But  I  won't  promise." 

"  Then  we'll  put   a  fmishment  to  ye." 


Two  TO  ONE. 

"You  are  two  to  one.     Will   you  give  me  time  to 
draw  my  coat  ?" 

"Wai,  yes,  I  'low  we  will." 

The   preacher   dismounted    with  quiet  deliberation, 


TWO    TO    ONE.  119 

tied  his  bridle  to  a  beech  limb,  offering  a  mental 
prayer  to  the  God  of  Samson,  and  then  laid  his  coat 
across  the  saddle. 

"  My  friends,"  he  said,  "  I  don't  want  to  whip  you. 
I  advise  you  now  to  let  me  alone.  As  an  American 
citizen,  I  have  a  right  to  go  where  I  please.  My 
father  was  a  revolutionary  soldier,  and  I  mean  to 
fight  for  my  rights.'* 

"Shet  up  your  jaw!"  said  Jake,  swearing,  and  ap- 
proaching the  preacher  from  one  side,  while  Bill  came 
up  on  the  other.  '  Magruder  was  one  of  those  short, 
stocky  men  who  have  no  end  of  muscular  force  and 
endurance.  In  his  unregenerate  days  he  had  been 
celebrated  for  his  victories  in  several  rude  encounters. 
Never  seeking  a  fight  even  then,  he  had,  nevertheless, 
when  any  ambitious  champion  came  from  afar  for  the 
purpose  of  testing  his  strength,  felt  himself  bound  to 
"  give  him  what  he  came  after."  .  He  had  now  greatly 
the  advantage  of  the  two  bullies  in  his  knowledge  of 
the  art  of  boxing. 

Before  Jake  had  fairly  finished  his  preliminary 
swearing  the  preacher  had  surprised  him  by  delivering 
a  blow  that  knocked  him  down.  But  Bill  had  taken 
advantage  of  this  to  strike  Magruder  heavily  on  the 
cheek.  Jake,  having  felt  the  awful  weight  of  Magru- 
der's  fist,  was  a  little  slow  in  coming  to  time,  and  the 
preacher  had  a  chance  to  give  Bill  a  most  polemical 
blow  on  his  nose ;  then  turning  suddenly,  he  rushed 
like  a  mad  bull  upon  Sniger,  and  dealt  him  one  tre- 
mendous blow  that  fractured  two  of  his  ribs  and  felled 
him  to  the  earth.  But  Bill  struck  Magruder  behind, 


120  THE    CIRCUIT    KTDER. 

knocked  him  over,  and  threw  himself  upon  him  after 
the  fashion  of  the  Western  free  fight.  Nothing  saved 
Magruder  but  his  immense  strength.  He  rose  right  up 
with  Bill  upon  him,  and  then,  by  a  deft  use  of  his 
legs,  tripped  his  antagonist  and  hurled  him  to  the 
ground.  He  did  not  dare  take  advantage  of  his  fall, 
however,  for  Jake  had  regained  his  feet  and  was  com- 
ing up  on  him  cautiously.  But  when  Sniger  saw  Ma- 
gruder rushing  at  him  again,  he  made  a  speedy  retreat 
into  the  bushes,  leaving  Magruder  to  fight  it  out  with 
Bill,  who,  despite  his  sorry -looking  nose,  was  again 
ready.  But  he  now  "fought  shy,"  and  kept  retreating 
slowly  backward  and  calling  out,  "  Come  up  on  him  be- 
hind, Jake!  Come  up  behind!"  But  the  demoralized 
Jake  had  somehow  got  a  superstitious  notion  that  the 
preacher  bristled  with  fists  before  and  behind,  having 
as  many  arms  as  a  Hindoo  deity.  Bill  kept  backing 
until  he  tripped  and  fell  over  a  bit  of  brush,  and  then 
picked  himself  up  and  made  off,  muttering : 

"  I  aint  a-goin'  to  try  to  handle  him  alone !  He 
must  have  the  very  devil  into  him!" 

About  nine  o'clock  on  that  same  Sunday  morning, 
the  Irish  school  -  master,  who  was  now  boarding  at 
Goodwin's,  and  who  had  just  made  an  early  visit  to  the 
Forks  for  news,  accosted  Morton  with :  "  An'  did  ye 
hear  the  nooze,  Moirton  ?  Bill  Conkey  and  Jake  Sniger 
hev  had  a  bit  of  Sunday  morning  ricreation.  They 
throid  to  thrash  the  praycher  as  he  was  a-comin* 
through  North's  Holler,  this  mornin';  but  they  didn't 
make  no  allowance  for  the  Oirish  blood  Magruder's 
got  in_  him.  _.JHe  larruped  'em  both  single- hand ed* 


TWO  TO    ONE.  12V 

and  Jake's  ribs  are  cracked,  and  ye'd  lawf  to  see  Bill's 
nose !  Captain  must  'a'  had  some  proivate  intherest 
in  that  muss;  hey,  Moirton?" 

"  It's  thunderin'  mean  !'  said  Morton ;  "  two  men 
on  one,  and  him  a  preacher;  and  all  I've  got  to  say 
is,  I  wish  he'd  killed  'em  both." 

"And  yer  futer  father-in-law  into  the  bargain? 
Hey,  Moirton?  But  fwat  did  I  tell  ye  about  Koike? 
The  praycher's  jaw  is  lamed  by  a  lick  Bill  gave  him, 
and  Koike's  to  exhort  in  his  place.  I  tould  ye  he 
had  the  botherin'  sperit  of  prophecy  in  him." 

The  manliness  in  a  character  like  Morton's  must 
react,  if  depressed  too  far;  and  he  now  notified  those 
who  were  to  help  him  interrupt  the  meeting  that  if 
any  disturbance  were  made,  he  should  take  it  on  him- 
self to  punish  the  offender.  He  would  not  fight  along- 
side Bill  McConkey  and  Jake  Sniger,  and  he  felt  like 
seeking  a  quarrel  with  Lumsden,  for  the  sake  of  justi* 
tifying  himself  to  himself, 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

KIKE'S   SERMON. 

DURING  the  time  that  had  intervened  between 
Kike's  conversion  and  Magruder's  second  visit 
to  the  settlement,  Kike  had  developed  a  very  con- 
siderable gift  for  earnest  speech  in  the  class  meetings. 
In  that  day  every  influence  in  Methodist  association 
contributed  to  make  a  preacher  of  a  man  of  force. 
The  reverence  with  which  a  self-denying  preacher  was 
regarded  by  the  people  was  a  great  compensation  for 
the  poverty  and  toil  that  pertained  to  the  office.  To 
1  be  a  preacher  was  to  be  canonized  during  one's  life- 
time. The  moment  a  young  man  showed  zeal  and 
fluency  he  was  pitched  on  by  all  the  brethren  and 
sisters  as  one  whose  duty  it  was  to  preach  the  Gos- 
pel ;  he  was  asked  whether  he  did  not  feel  that  he 
had  a  divine  call;  he  was  set  upon  watching  the 
movements  within  him  to  see  whether  or  not  he 
ought  to  be  among  the  sons  of  the  prophets.  Often- 
times a  man  was  made  to  feel,  in  spite  of  his  own 
better  judgment,  that  he  was  a  veritable  Jonah,  slink- 
ing from  duty,  and  in  imminent  peril  of  a  whale  in 
the  shape  of  some  providential  disaster.  Kike,  indeed, 
needed  none  of  these  urgings  to  impel  him  toward 
the  ministry.  He  was  a  man  of  the  prophetic  tem- 
perament— one  of  those  men  whose  beliefs  take  hold 
of  them  more  strongly  than  the  objects  of  sense.  The 


KIKE'S  SERMON.  123 

future  life,  as  preached  by  the  early  Methodists,  with  L 
all  its  joys  and  all  its  awful  torments,  became  the 
most  substantial  of  realities  to  him.  He  was  in  con- 
stant astonishment  that  people  could  believe  these 
things  theoretically  and  ignore  them  in  practice.  If 
men  were  going  headlong  to  perdition,  and  could  b* 
saved  and  brought  into  a  paradise  of  eternal  bliss  by 
preaching,  then  what  nobler  work  could  there  be  than 
that  of  saving  them?  And,  let  a  man  take  what  view 
he  may  of  a  future  life,  Kike's  opinion  was  the  right 
one — no  work  can  be  so  excellent  as  that  of  helping 
men  to  better  living. 

Kike  had  been  poring  over  some  works  of  Meth- 
odist biography  which  he  had  borrowed,  and  the  sub* 
limated  life  of  Fletcher  was  the  only  one  that  fulfilled 
his  ideal.  Methodism  preached  consecration  to  its 
disciples.  Kike  had  already  learned  from  Mrs.  Wheel* 
er,  who  was  the  class-leader  at  Hissawachee  settlement, 
and  from  Methodist  literature,  that  he  must  "keep  all 
on  the  altar."  He  must  be  ready  to  do,  to  suffer,  or  / 
to  perish,  for  the  Master.  The  sternest  sayings  of 
Christ  about  forsaking  father  and  mother,  and  hating 
one's  own  life  and  kindred,  he  heard  often  repeated  ia 
exhortations.  Most  people  are  not  harmed  by  a  liter- 
al understanding  of  hyperbolical  expressions.  Laziness 
and.  selfishness  are  great  antidotes  to  fanaticism,  and 
often  pass  current  for  common  sense.  Kike  had  no 
such  buffers ;  taught  to  accept  the  words  of  the  Gospel 
with  the  dry  literalness  of  statutory  enactments,  he  was 
too  honest  to  evade  their  force,  too  earnest  to  slacken 
his  obedience.  He  was  already  prepared  to  accept 


124  THE,    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

any  burden  and  endure  any  trial  that  might  be  given 
as  a  test  of  discipleship.  All  his  natural  ambition,  ve- 
hemence, and  persistence,  found  exercise  in  his  relig- 
ious life;  and  the  simple-hearted  brethren,  not  know- 
ing that  the  one  sort  of  intensity  was  but  the  counter- 
part of  the  other,  pointed  to  the  transformation  as  a 
"beautiful  conversion/'  a  standing  miracle.  So  it  was, 
indeed,  and,  like  all  moral  miracles,  it  was  worked  in 
the  direction  of  individuality,  not  in  opposition  to  it. 

It  was  a  grievous  disappointment  to  the  little  band 
of  Methodists  that  Brother  Magruder's  face  was  so 
swollen,  after  his  encounter,  as  to  prevent  his  preach- 
ing. They  had  counted  much  upon  the  success  of  this 
day's  work,  and  now  the  devil  seemed  about  to  snatch 
the  victory.  Mrs.  Wheeler  enthusiastically  recommend- 
ed Kike  as  a  substitute,  and  Magruder  sent  for  him 
in  haste.  Kike  was  gratified  to  hear  that  the  preacher 
wanted  to  see  him  personally.  His  sallow  face  flushed 
with  pleasure  as  he  stood,  a  slender  stripling,  before 
the  messenger  of  God. 

"Brother  Lumsden,"  said  Mr.  Magruder,  "are  you 
ready  to  do  and  to  suffer  for  Christ?" 

"I  trust  I  am,"  said  Kike,  wondering  what  the 
preacher  could  mean. 

"You  see  how  the  devil  has  planned  to  defeat  the 
Lord's  work  to-day.  My  lip  is  swelled,  and  my  jaw 
so  stiff  that  I  can  hardly  speak.  Are  you  ready  to  do 
the  duty  the  Lord  shall  put  upon  you?" 

Kike  trembled  from  head  to  foot.  He  had  often 
fancied  himself  preaching  his  first  sermon  in  a  strange 
neighborhood,  and  he  had  even  picked  out  his  text*, 


KIKE'S   SERMON.  124 

but   to   stand   up  suddenly   before   his    school-mates,    . 
before  his   mother,  before  Brady,  and,  worse  than  SL\\ 
before  Morton,  was  terrible.    And  yet,  had  he  not  that 
very  morning  made  a  solemn  vow  that  he  would  not 
shrink  from  death  itself! 

"  Do  you  think  I  am  fit  to  preach  ?"  he  asked,  eva- 
sively. 

"  None  of  us  are  fit ;  but  here  wiL  be  two  or  three 
hundred  people  hungry  for  the  bread  of  life.  The 
Master  has  fed  you ;  he  offers  you  the  bread  to  dis- 
tribute among  your  friends  and  neighbors.  Now,  will 
you  let  the  fear  of  man  make  you  deny  the  blessed 
Lord  who  has  taken  you  out  of  a  horrible  pit  and  set 
your  feet  upon  the  Rock  of  Ages?" 

Kike  trembled  a  moment,  and  then  said:  "I  will 
do  whatever  you  say,  if  you  will  pray  for  me." 

"I'll  do  that,  my  brother.  And  now  take  your 
Bible,  and  go  into  the  woods  and  pray.  The  Lord  will 
show  you  the  way,  if  you  put  your  whole  trust  in 
him." 

The  preacher's  allusion  to  the  bread  of  life  gave 
Kike  his  subject,  and  he  soon  gathered  a  few  thoughts 
which  he  wrote  down  on  a  fly-leaf  of  the  Bible,  in  the 
shape  of  a  skeleton.  But  it  occurred  to  him  that  he 
had  not  one  word  to  say  on  the  subject  of  the  bread 
of  life  beyond  the  sentences  of  his  skeleton.  The 
more  this  became  evident  to  him,  the  greater  was  his 
agony  of  fear.  He  knelt  on  the  brown  leaves  by  a 
prostrate  log ;  he  made  a  "  new  consecration  "  of  him- 
self;  he  tried  to  feel  willing  to  fail,  so  far  as  his  own 
feelings  were  involved;  he  reminded  the  Lord  of  his 


128  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

promises  to  be  with  them  he  had  sent ;  and  then  there 
came  into  his  memory  a  text  of  Scripture:  "For  it 
shall  be  given  you  in  that  same  hour  what  ye  shall 
speak."  Taking  it,  after  the  manner  of  the  early  Meth- 
odist  mysticism,  that  the  text  had  been  supernaturally 
"suggested"  to  him,  he  became  calm;  and  finding, 
from  the  height  of  the  sun,  that  it  was  about  the  hour 
for  meeting,  he  returned  to  the  house  of  Colonel 
Wheeler,  and  was  appalled  at  the  sight  that  met  his 
eyes.  All  the  settlement,  and  many  from  other  settle- 
ments, had  come.  The  house,  the  yard,  the  fences, 
were  full  of  people.  Kike  wis  seized  with  a  tremor. 
He  did  not  feel  able  to  run  the  gauntlet  of  such  a 
throng.  He  made  a  detour,  and  crept  in  at  the  back 
door  like  a  criminal.  For  stage-fright — this  fear  of  hu- 
man presence — is  not  a  thing  to  be  overcome  by  the 
will.  Susceptible  natures  are  always  liable  to  it,  and 
neither  moral  nor  physical  courage  can  avert  it. 

A  chair  had  been  placed  in  the  front  door  of  the 
log  house,  for  Kike,  that  he  might  preach  to  the  con- 
gregation indoors  and  the  much  larger  one  outdoors. 
Mr.  Magruder,  much  battered  up,  sat  on  a  wooden 
bench  just  outside.  Kike  crept  into  the  empty  chair 
in  the  doorway  with  the  feeling  of  one  who  intrudes 
where  he  does  not  belong.  The  brethren  were  singing, 
as  a  congregational  voluntary,  to  the  solemn  tune  oi 
*"  Kentucky,"  the  hymn  which  begins : 

"A  charge  to  keep  I  have, 

A  God  to  glorify; 
A  never-dying  soul  to  save 
And  fit  it  for  the  sky." 


KIKE'S    SERMON.  127 

Magruder  saw  Kike's  fright,  and,  leaning  over  to 
said :  "  If  you  get  confused,  tell  your  own  expe- 
rience." The  early  preacher's  universal  refuge  was  his 
own  experience.  It  was  a  sure  key  to  the  sympathies 
of  the  audience. 

Kike  got  through  the  opening  exercises  very  welL 
He  could  pray,  for  in  praying  he  shut  his  eyes  and 
uttered  the  cry  of  his  trembling  soul  for  help.  He 
had  been  beating  about  among  two  or  three  texts, 
either  of  which  would  do  for  a  head -piece  to  the  re- 
marks he  intended  to  make;  but  now  one  fixed  itself 
in  his  mind  as  he  stood  appalled  by  his  situation  in 
the  presence  of  such  a  throng.  He  rose  and  read, 
with  a  tremulous  voice: 

"There  is  a  lad  here  which  hath  five  barley  loaves  and  two 
small  fishes ;  but  what  are  they  among  so  many  ?** 

The  text  arrested  the  attention  of  all.  Magruder, 
though  unable  to  speak  without  pain,  could  not  refrain 
from  saying  aloud,  after  the  free  old  Methodist  fash- 
ion :  "  The  Lord  multiply  the  loaves  !  Bless  and  break 
to  the  multitude !"  *'  Amen  I"  responded  an  old  broth* 
er  from  another  settlement,  "and  the  Lord  help  the 
lad !"  But  Kike  felt  that  the  advantage  which  the  text 
had  given  him  would  be  of  short  duration.  The  nov- 
elty of  his  position  bewildered  him.  His  face  flushed ; 
his  thoughts  became  confused;  he  turned  his  back  on 
the  audience  out  of  doors,  and  talked  rapidly  to  the 
few  friends  in  the  house :  the  old  brethren  leaned  theif 
heads  upon  their  hands  and  began  to  pray.  Whatevet 
spiritual  help  their  prayers  may  have  brought  him, 


128  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

their  lugubrious  groaning,  and  their  doleful,  audibly 
prayers  of  "Lord,  help!"  depressed  Kike  immeasura* 
bly,  and  kept  the  precipice  on  which  he  stood  con- 
stantly present  to  him.  He  tried  in  succession  each 
division  that  he  had  sketched  on  the  fly-leaf  of  the 
Bible,  and  found  little  to  say  on  any  of  them.  At  last, 
he  could  not  see  the  audience  distinctly  for  confusion 
— there  was  a  dim  vision  of  heads  swimming  before 
him.  He  stopped  still,  and  Magruder,  expecting  him 
to  sit  down,  resolved  to  "  exhort "  if  the  pain  should 
kill  him.  The  Philistines  meanwhile  were  laughing  at 
Kike's  evident  discomfiture. 

But  Kike  had  no  notion  of  sitting  down.  The 
laughter  awakened  his  combativeness^  and  his  combat- 
iveness  restored  his  self-control.  Persistent  people  be- 
gin their  success  where  others  end  in^lfailure. He  iras 

through  with  the  sermon,  and  it  had  occupied  just  six 
minutes.  The  lad's  scanty  provisions  had  not  been 
multiplied.  But  he  felt  relieved.  The  sermon  over, 
there  was  no  longer  necessity  for  trying  to  speak 
against  time,  nor  for  observing  the  outward  manner  of 
a  preacher. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  doggedly,  "  you  have  all  seen  that 
I  cannot  preach  worth  a  cent.  When  David  went  out 
to  fight,  he  had  the  good  sense  not  to  put  on  Saul's 
^irmor.  I  was  fool  enough  to  try  to  wear  Brother  Ma- 
gruder's.  Now,  I'm  done  with  that.  The  text  and 
sermon  are  gone.  But  I'm  not  ashamed  of  Jesus 
Christ.  And  before  I  sit  down,  I  am  going  to  tell 
you  all  what  he  has  done  for  a  poor  lost  sinner  like 
me." 


KIKE'S  SERMON.  J29 

Kike  told  the  story  with  sincere  directness.  His 
recital  of  his  own  sins  was  a  rebuke  to  others ;  with  a 
trembling  voice  and  a  simple  earnestness  absolutely 
electrical,  he  told  of  his  revengefulness,  and  of  the 
effect  of  Magruder's  preaching  on  him.  And  now  that 
the  flood-gates  of  emotion  were  opened, -all  trepidation 
departed,  and  there  came  instead  the  fine  glow  of  mar- 
tial courage,,  He  could  have  faced  the  universe. 
From  his  own  life  the  transition  to  the  lives  of  those 
around  him  was  easy.  He  hit  right  and  left.  The 
excitable  crowd  swayed  with  consternation  as,  in  a  rap- 
id and  vehement  utterance,  he  denounced  their  sins 
with  the  particularity  of  one  who  had  been  familiar 
With  them  all  his  life.  Magruder  forgot  to  respond; 
he  only  leaned  back  and  looked  in  bewilderment,  with 
open  eyes  and  mouth,  at  the  fiery  boy  whose  conta- 
gious excitement  was  fast  setting  the  whole  audience 
ablaze.  Slowly  the  people  pressed  forward  off  the 
fences.  All  at  once  there  was  a  loud  bellowing  cry 
from  some  one  who  had  fallen  prostrate  outside  the 
fence,  and  who  began  to  cry  aloud  as  if  the  portals 
of  an  endless  perdition  were  yawning  in  his  face.  Ma- 
gruder pressed  through  the  crowd  to  find  that  the 
fallen  man  was  his  antagonist  of  the  morning — Bill 
McConkey !  Bill  had  concealed  his  bruised  nose  behind 
a  tree,  but  had  been  drawn  forth  by  the  fascination  of 
Kike's  earnestness,  and  had  finally  fallen  under  the  effect 
of  his  own  terror.  This  outburst  of  agony  from  McCon- 
key was  fuel  to  the  flames,  and  the  excitement  now 
spread  to  all  parts  of  the  audience.  Kike  went  from 
man  to  man,  and  exhorted  and  rebuked  each  one  in 


130  TffE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

particular.  Brady,  not  wishing  to  hear  a  public  com* 
mentary  on  his  own  life,  waddled  away  when  he  saw 
Kike  coming;  his  mother  wept  bitterly  under  his  ex- 
hortation ;  and  Morton  sat  stock  still  on  the  fence  list* 
ening,  half  in  anguish  and  half  in  anger,  to  Kike's 
public  recital  of  his  sins. 

At  last  Kike  approached  his  uncle;  for  Captain 
Lumsden  had  come  on  purpose  to  enjoy  Morton's 
proposed  interruption.  He  listened  a  minute  to  Kike's 
exhortation,  and  the  contrary  emotions  of  alarm  at 
the  thought  of  God's  judgment  and  anger  at  Kike's 
impudence  contended  within  him  until  he  started  for 
his  horse  and  was  seized  with  that  curious  nervous 
affection  which  originated  in  these  religious  excite- 
/  ments  and  disappeared  with  them.*  He  jerked  vio- 
lently— his  jerking  only  adding  to  his  excitement,  which 
in  turn  increased  the  severity  of  his  contortions.  This 
nervous  affection  was  doubtless  a  natural  physical  re- 
sult of  violent  excitement ;  but  the  people  of  that  day 
imagined  that  it  was  produced  by  some  supernatural 
agency,  some  attributing  it  to  God,  others  to  the  devil, 
and  yet  others  to  some  subtle  charm  voluntarily  exer- 
cised by  the  preachers.  Lumsden  went  home  jerking 
all  the  way,  and  cursing  the  Methodists  more  bitterly 
than  ever. 


*  It  bore,  however,  a  curious  resemblance  to  the  "  dancing  di* 
which  prevailed  in  Italy  in  the  Middle  Ages. 


* 


CHAPTER   XV. 
MORTON'S    RETREAT. 

IT  would  be  hard  to  analyze  the  emotions  with  which 
Morton  had  listened  to  Kike's  hot  exhortation.  In 
vain  he  argued  with  himself  that  a  man  need  not  be 
a  Methodist  and  "go  shouting  and  crying  all  over 
the  country,"  in  order  to  be  good.  He  knew  that 
Kike's  life  was  better  than  his  own,  and  that  he  had 
not  force  enough  to  break  his  habits  and  associations 
unless  he  did  so  by  putting  himself  into  direct  antag- 
onism with  them.  He  inwardly  condemned  himself 
for  his  fear  of  Lumsden,  and  he  inly  cursed  Kike  for 
telling  him  the  blunt  truth  about  himself.  But  ever 
as  there  came  the  impulse  to  close  the  conflict  and 
be  at  peace  with  himself  by  "  putting  himself  boldly 
on  the  Lord's  side, "  as  Kike  phrased  it,  he  thought 
of  Patty,  whose  aristocratic  Virginia  pride  would  re- 
gard marriage  with  a  Methodist  as  worse  than  death. 

And  so,  in  mortal  terror,  lest  he  should  yield  to 
his  emotions  so  far  as  to  compromise  himself,  he 
rushed  out  of  the  crowd,  hurried  home,  took  down 
his  rifle,  and  rode  away,  intent  only  on  getting  out 
of  the  excitement. 

As  he  rode  away  from  home  he  met  Captain 
Lumsden  hurrying  from  the  meeting  with  the  jerks, 
and  leading  his  horse — the  contortions  of  his  body 


132  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

not  allowing  him  to  ride.  With  every  step  he  took 
he  grew  more  and  more  furious.  Seeing  Morton,  he 
endeavored  to  vent  his  passion  upon  him. 

"Why  didn't — you — blow — why  didn't — why  didn't 

you  blow  your  tin  horns,  this "  but  at  this  point 

the  jerks  became  so  violent  as  to  throw  off  his  hat 
and  shut  off  all  utterance,  and  he  only  gnashed  his 
teeth  and  hurried  on  with  irregular  steps  toward  home, 
leaving  Morton  to  gauge  the  degree  of  the  Captain's 
wrath  by  the  involuntary  distortion  of  his  visage. 

Goodwin  rode  listlessly  forward,  caring  little  whith- 
er he  went;  endeavoring  only  to  allay  the  excitement 
of  his  conscience,  and  to  imagine  some  sort  of  future  in 
which  he  might  hope  to  return  and  win  Patty  in  spite 
of  Lumsden's  opposition.  Night  found  him  in  front 
of  the  "  City  Hotel,"  in  the  county-seat  village  of 
Jonesville ;  and  he  was  rejoiced  to  find  there,  on 
some  political  errand,  Mr.  Burchard,  whom  he  had 
met  awhile  before  at  Wilkins',  in  the  character  of  a 
candidate  for  sheriff. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Morton  ?  Howdy  do  ?" 
said  Burchard,  cordially,  having  only  heard  Morton's 
first  name  and  mistaking  it  for  his  last.  "  I'm  lucky 
to  meet  you  in  this  town.  Do  you  live  over  this 
way  ?  I  thought  you  lived  in  our  county  and  'lec- 
tioneered  you — expecting  to  get  your  vote." 

The  conjunction  of  Morton  and  Burchard  on  a 
Sunday  evening  (or  any  other)  meant  a  game  at  cards, 
and  as  Burchard  was  the  more  skillful  and  just  now 
in  great  need  of  funds,  it  meant  that  all  the  contents 
of  Morton's  pockets  should  soon  transfer  themselves 


MORTON'S  RETREAT. 


133 


to  Burchard's,  the  more  that  Morton  in  his  contend- 
ing with  the  religious  excitement  of  the  morning 
rushed  easily  into  the  opposite  excitement  of  gambling. 
The  violent  awakening  of  a  religious  revival  has  a  sharp 
polarity — it  has  sent  many  a  man  headlong  to  the 
devil  When  Morton  had  frantically  bet  and  lost  all 


GAMBLING, 

his  money,  he  proceeded  to  bet  his  rifle,  tnen  his 
grandfather's  watch — an  ancient  time-piece,  that  Bur- 
chard  examined  with  much  curiosity.  Having  lost 
this,  he  staked  his  pocket-knife,  his  hat,  his  coat,  and 
offered  to  put  up  his  boots,  but  Burchard  refused 


134  THE  CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

them.  The  madness  of  gambling  was  on  the  young 
man,  however.  He  had  no  difficulty  in  persuading 
Burchard  to  take  his  mare  as  security  for  a  hundred 
dollars,  which  he  proceeded  to  gamble  way  by  the 
easy  process  of  winning  once  and  losing  twice. 

When  the  last  dollar  was  gone,  his  face  was  very 
white  and  calm.  He  leaned  back  in  the  chair  and 
looked  at  Burchard  a  moment  or  two  in  silence. 

rt  Burchard,"  said  he,  at  last,  "  I'm  a  picked  goose. 
I  don't  know  whether  I've  got  any  brains  or  no*. 
But  if  you'll  lend  me  the  rifle  you  won  long  enough 
for  me  to  have  a  farewell  shot,  I'll  find  out  what'* 
inside  this  good-for-nothing  cocoa-nut  of  mine." 

Burchard  was  not  without  generous  traits,  and  he 
was  alarmed.  "  Come,  Mr.  Morton,  don't  be  desper- 
ate. The  luck's  against  you,  but  you'll  have  better 
another  time.  Here's  your  hat  and  coat,  and  you're 
welcome.  I've  been  flat  of  my  back  many  a  time, 
but  I've  always  found  a  way  out.  I'll  pay  your 
bill  here  to  -  morrow  morning.  Don't  think  of  doing 
anything  desperate.  There's  plenty  to  live  for  yet. 
You'll  break  some  girl's  heart  if  you  kill  yourself, 
maybe." 

This  thrust  hurt  Morton  keenly.  But  Burchard 
was  determined  to  divert  him  from  his  suicidal  im- 
pulse. 

"  Come,  old  fellow,  you're  excited.  Come  out  into 
the  air.  Now,  don't  kill  yourself.  You  looked  trou- 
bled when  you  got  here.  I  take  it,  there's  some 
trouble  at  home.  Now,  if  there  is  " — here  Burchard 
hesitated — "if  there  is  trouble  at  home,  I  can  put 


MORTON'S  RETREAT.  135 

you  on  the  track  of  a  band  of  fellows  that  have 
been  in  trouble  themselves.  They  help  one  another. 
Of  course,  I  haven't  anything  to  do  with  them;  but 
they'll  be  mighty  glad  to  get  a  hold  of  a  fellow  like 
you,  that's  a  good  shot  and  not  afraid." 

For  a  moment  even  outlawry  seemed  attractive  to 
Morton,  so  utterly  had  hope  died  out  of  his  heart. 
But  only  for  a  moment ;  then  his  moral  sense  re- 
coiled. 

"  No ;  I'd  rather  shoot  myself  than  kill  somebody 
else.  I  can't  take  that  road,  Mr.  Burchard." 

"  Of  course  you  can't,"  said  Burchard,  affecting  to 
laugh.  "  I  knew  you  wouldn't.  But  I  wanted  to  turn 
your  thoughts  away  from  bullets  and  all  that.  Now, 
Mr.  Morton " 

"  My  name's  not  Morton.  My  last  name  is  Good- 
win— Morton  Goodwin."  This  correction  was  made 
as  a  man  always  attends  to  trifles  when  he  is  trying 
to  decide  a  momentous  question. 

"  Morton  Goodwin  ? "  said  Burchard,  looking  at 
him  keenly,  as  the  two  stood  together  in  the  moon- 
light. Then,  after  pausing  a  moment,  he  added :  "  I 
had  a  crony  by  the  name  of  Lew  Goodwin,  once. 
Devilish  hard  case  he  was,  but  good-hearted.  Got 
killed  in  a  fight  in  Pittsburg." 

"  He  was  my  brother,"  said  Morton. 

"Your  brother?  thunder!  You  don't  mean  it. 
Let's  see ;  he  told  me  once  his  father's  name  was 
Moses — no;  Job.  Yes,  that's  it — Job.  Is  that  you! 
father's  name  ?  " 

"Yes." 


136  THE    CIRCUIT   RIDER. 

"  I  reckon  the  old  folks  must  a  took  Lew's  devik 
try  hard.  Didn  t  kill  'em,  did  it?" 

"  No.  " 

"Both  alive  yet?" 

"Yes." 

"And  now  you  want  to  kill  both  of  'em  by  com- 
mitting suicide.  You  ought  to  think  a  little  of  your 
mother " 

"  Shut  your  mouth,"  said  Morton,  turning  fiercely 
on  Burchard ;  for  he  suddenly  saw  a  vision  of  the 
agony  his  mother  must  suffer. 

"  Oh !  don't  get  mad.  I'm  going  to  let  you  have 
back  your  horse  and  gun,  only  you  must  give  me  a 
bill  of  sale  so  that  I  may  be  sure  you  won't  gamble 
them  away  to  somebody  else.  You  must  redeem  them 
on  your  honor  in  six  months,  with  a  hundred  and 
twenty-five  dollars.  I'll  do  that  much  for  the  sake  of  my 
old  friend,  Lew  Goodwin,  who  stood  by  me  in  many 
a  tight  place,  and  was  a  good-hearted  fellow  after  all." 

Morton  accepted  this  little  respite,  and  Burchard 
left  the  tavern.  As  it  was  now  past  midnight,  Good- 
win did  not  go  to  bed.  At  two  o'clock  he  gave  Dolly 
corn,  and  before  daylight  he  rode  out  of  the  village. 
But  not  toward  home.  His  gambling  and  losses 
would  be  speedily  reported  at  home  and  to  Captain 
Lumsden.  And  moreover,  Kike  would  persecute  him 
worse  than  ever.  He  rode  out  of  town  in  the  direc- 
tion opposite  to  that  he  would  have  taken  in  return- 
ing to  Hissawachee,  and  he  only  knew  that  it  was 
opposite.  He  was  trying  what  so  many  other  men 
have  tried  in  vain  lo  do — to  run  away  from  himself. 


MORTON'S   RETREAT.  13? 

But  not  the  fleetest  Arabian  charger,  nor  the  swiftest 
lightning  express,  ever  yet  enabled  a  man  to  leave  a 
disagreeable  self  behind.  The  wise  man  knows  better, 
and  turns  round  and  faces  it. 

About  noon  Morton,  who  had  followed  an  obscure 
and  circuitous  trail  of  which  he  knew  nothing,  drew 
near  to  a  low  log-house  with  deer's  horns  over  the 
door,  a  sign  that  the  cabin  was  devoted  to  hotel  pur- 
poses— a  place  where  a  stranger  might  get  a  little 
food,  a  place  to  rest  on  the  floor,  and  plenty  of 
whiskey.  There  were  a  dozen  horses  hitched  to  trees 
about  it,  and  Goodwin  got  down  and  went  in  from  a 
spirit  of  idle  curiosity.  Ortainly  the  place  was  not 
attractive.  The  landlord  had  a  cut-throat  way  of 
looking  closely  at  a  guest  from  under  his  eye-brows; 
the  guests  all  wore  black  beards,  and  Morton  soon 
found  reason  to  suspect  that  these  beards  were  not 
indigenous.  He  was  himself  the  object  of  much  dis- 
agreeable scrutiny,  but  he  could  hardly  restrain  a 
mischievous  smile  at  thought  of  the  disappointment  ta 
which  any  highwayman  was  doomed  who  should,  at- 
tempt to  rob  him  in  his  present  penniless  condition. 
The  very  worst  that  could  happen  would  be  the  loss 
of  Dolly  and  his  rifle.  It  soon  occurred  to  him  that 
this  lonely  place  was  none  other  than  "Brewer's 
Hole,"  one  of  the  favorite  resorts  of  Micajah  Harp's 
noted  band  of  desperadoes,  a  place  into  which  few 
honest  men  ever  ventured. 

One  of  the  men  presently  stepped  to  the  window, 
rested  his  foot  upon  the  low  sill,  and  taking  up  a 
piece  of  dialk,  drew  a  line  from  the  toe  to  the  top 


138  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

of  his  boot.*  Several  others  imitated  him ;  and  Mor« 
ton,  in  a  spirit  of  reckless  mischief  and  adventure, 
took  the  chalk  and  marked  his  right  boot  in  the  same 
way. 

"Will  you  drink?"  said  the  man  who  had  first 
chalked  his  boot. 

Goodwin  accepted  the  invitation,  and  as  they  stood 
near  together,  Morton  could  plainly  discover  the  false- 
ness of  his  companion's  beard.  Presently  the  man 
fixed  his  eyes  on  Goodwin  and  asked,  in  an  indiffer- 
ent tone:  "Cut  or  carry?" 

"  Carry,"  answered  Morton,  not  knowing  the  mean- 
ing of  the  lingo,  but  finding  himself  in  a  predicament 
from  which  there  was  no  escape  but  by  drifting  with 
the  current.  A  few  minutes  later  a  bag,  which  seemed 
to  contain  some  hundreds  of  dollars,  was  thrust  into 
his  hand,  and  Morton,  not  knowing  what  to  do  with 
it  thought  best  to  "  carry "  it  off.  He  mounted  his 
mare  and  rode  away  in  a  direction  opposite  to  that  in 
which  he  had  come.  He  had  not  gone  more  than 
three  miles  when  he  met  Burchard. 

"Why,  Burchard,  how  did  you  come  here?" 

"Oh,  I  came  by  a  short  cut." 

But  Burchard  did  not  say  that  he  had  traveled  i* 
the  night,  to  avoid  observation. 

"Hello!    Goodwin,"   cried    Burchard,   "you've    got 

*  In  relating  this  incident,  I  give  the  local  tradition  as  it  is 
yet  told  in  the  neighborhood.  It  does  not  seem  that  chalking 
one's  boot  is  a  very  prudent  mode  of  recognizing  the  members  of 
a  secret  band,  but  I  do  not  suppose  that  men  who  follow  a  high/ 
wayman's  life  are  very  wise  people. 


MORTON'S  RETREAT.  139 

chalk  on  your  boot!  I  hope  you  haven't  joined 
the—" 

"Well,  111  tell  you,  Burchard,  how  that  come.  I 
found  the  greatest  set  of  disguised  cut-throats  you  ever 
saw,  at  this  little  hole  back  here.  You  hadn't  better 
go  there,  if  you  don't  want  to  be  relieved  of  all  the 
money  you  got  last  night.  I  saw  them  chalking  their 
boots,  and  I  chalked  mine,  just  to  see  what  would 
come  of  it.  And  here's  what  come  of  it;"  and  with 
that,  Morton  showed  his  bag  of  money.  "Now,"  he 
said,  "if  I  could  find  the  right  owner  of  this  money, 
I'd  give  it  to  him;  but  I  take  it  he's  buried  in  some 
holler,  without  nary  coffin  or  grave-stone.  I  low  to 
pay  you  what  I  owe  you,  and  take  the  rest  out  to  Vin- 
cennes,  or  somewheres  else,  and  use  it  for  a  nest-egg. 
*  Finders,  keepers/  you  know." 

Burchard  looked  at  him  darkly  a  moment.  "Look 
here,  Morton — Goodwin,  I  mean.  You'll  lose  your 
head,  if  you  fool  with  chalk  that  way.  If  you  don't 
give  that  money  up  to  the  first  man  that  asks  for  it, 
you  are  a  dead  man.  They  can't  be  fooled  for  long. 
They'll  be  after  you.  There's  no  way  now  but  to 
hold  on  to  it  and  give  it  up  to  the  first  man  that 
asks ;  and  if  he  don't  shoot  first,  you'll  be  lucky.  I'm 
going  down  this  trail  a  way.  I  want  to  see  old 
Brewer.  He's  got  a  good  deal  of  political  influence. 
Good-bye!" 

Morton  rode  forward  uneasily  until  he  came  to  a 
place  two  miles  farther  on,  where  another  trail  joined 
the  one  he  was  traveling.  Here  there  stood  a  man 
with  a  huge  beard,  a  blanket  over  his  shoulders,  holes 


140  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

cut  through  for  arms,  after  the  frontier  fashion,  a  belt 
with  pistols  and  knives,  and  a  bearskin  cap.  The 
stranger  stepped  up  to  him,  reaching  out  his  hand  and 
saying  nothing.  Morton  was  only  too  glad  to  give  up 
the  money.  And  he  set  Dolly  off  at  her  best  pace, 
seeking  to  get  as  far  as  possible  from  the  head-quarters 
of  the  cut -or -carry  gang.  He  could  not  but  wonder 
how  Burchard  should  seem  to  know  them  so ,  well.  He 
did  not  much  like  the  thought  that  Burchard's  forbear- 
ance had  bound  him  to  support  that  gentleman's  po- 
litical aspirations  when  he  had  opportunity.  This 
friendly  relation  with  thieves  was  not  what  he  would 
have  liked  to  see  in  a  favorite  candidate,  but  a  cursed 
fatality  seemed  to  be  dragging  down  all  his  high  aspi- 
rations. It  was  like  one  of  those  old  legends  he  had 
heard  his  mother  recite,  of  men  who  had  begun  by 
little  bargains  with  the  devil,  and  had  presently  found 
themselves  involved  in  evil  entanglements  on  every 
band. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

SHORT    SHRIFT. 

BUT  Morton  had  no  time  to  busy  himself  now  with 
nice  scruples.  Bread  and  meat  are  considerations 
more  imperative  to  a  healthy  man  than  conscience. 
He  had  no  money.  He  might  turn  aside  from  the 
trail  to  hunt;  indeed  this  was  what  he  had  meant  to 
do  when  he  started.  But  ever,  as  he  traveled,  he  had 
become  more  and  more  desirous  of  getting  away  from 
himself.  He  was  now  full  sixty  or  seventy  miles  from 
home,  but  he  could  not  make  up  his  mind  to  stop  and 
devote  himself  to  hunting.  At  four  o'clock  the  valley 
of  the  Mustoga  lay  before  him,  and  Morton,  still  pur- 
poseless,  rode  on.  And  now  at  last  the  habitual 
thought  of  his  duty  to  his  mother  was  returning  upon 
him,  and  he  began  to  he  hesitant  about  going  on. 
After  all,  his  flight  seemed  foolish.  Patty  might  not 
yet  be  lost;  and  as  for  Kike's  revival,  why  should  he 
yield  to  it,  unless  he  chose? 

In  this  painful  indecision  he  resolved  to  stop  and 
crave  a  night's  lodging  at  the  crossing  of  the  river. 
He  was  the  more  disposed  to  this  that  Dolly,  having 
been  ridden  hard  all  day  without  food,  showed  unmis- 
takable signs  of  exhaustion,  and  it  was  now  snowing. 
He  would  give  her  a  night's  rest,  and  then  perhaps 
take  the  road  back  to  the  Hissawachee,  or  go  into  the 
wilderness  and  hunt 


142  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

"Hello  the  house!"  he  called.     "Hello!" 

A  long,  lank  man,  in  butternut  jeans,  opened  the 
door,  and  responded  with  a  "  Hello !" 

"Can  I  get  to  stay  here  all  night?" 

"Wai,  no,  I  'low  not,  stranger.  Kinder  full  to* 
night.  You  mout  git  a  place  about  a  mile  furder  on 
whar  you  could  hang  up  for  the  night,  mos*  likely; 
but  I  can't  keep  you,  no  ways." 

"My  mare's  drea4ful  tired,  and  I  can  sleep  any- 
where," plead  Morton. 

*c  She  does  look  sorter  tuckered  ou  t,  sartain ;  blamed 
if  she  don't  I  Whar  did  you  git  her?" 

"Raised  her,"  said  Morton. 
.      "Whar  abouts?" 

"  Hissawachee." 

"You  don't  say!     How  far  you  rid  her  to-day?" 

"  From  Jonesville." 

"  Jam  up  fifty  miles,  and  over  tough  roads !  Mighty 
purty  critter,  that  air.  Powerful  clean  legs.  She's 
number  one.  Is  she  your'n,  did  you  say?" 

"Well,  not  exactly  mine.  That  is—".  Here  Mor- 
ton hesitated. 

"  Stranger,"  said  the  settler,  "  you  can't  put  up 
here,  no  ways.  I  tuck  iu  one  of  your  sort  a  month 
ago,  and  he  rid  my  sorrel  mare  off  in  the  middle  of 
the  night.  I'll  bore  a  hole  through  him,  ef  I  ever  set 
eyes  on  him."  And  the  man  had  disappeared  in  the 
house  before  Morton  could  reply. 

To  be  in  a  snow-storm  without  shelter  was  unpleas- 
ant; to  be  refused  a  lodging  and  to  be  mistaken  for 
a  horse-thief  filled  the  cup  of  Morton's  bitterness.  He 


SHORT   SHRIFT.  143 

reluctantly  turned  his  horse's  head  toward  the  river. 
There  was  no  ferry,  and  the  stream  was  so  swollen 
that  he  must  needs  swim  Dolly  across. 

He  tightened  his  girth  and  stroked  Dolly  affection- 
ately, with  a  feeling  that  she  was  the  only  friend  he 
had  left.  "  Well,  Dolly,"  he  said,  "  it's  too  bad  to  make 
you  swim,  after  such  a  day;  but  you  must.  If  we 
drown,  we'll  drown  together." 

The  weary  Dolly  put  her  head  against  his  cheek 
in  a  dumb  trustfulness. 

There  was  a  road  cut  through  the  steep  bank  on 
the  other  side,  so  that  travelers  might  ride  down  to 
the  water's  edge.  Knowing  that  he  would  have  to 
come  out  at  that  place,  young  Goodwin  rode  into  the 
water  as  far  up  the  stream  as  he  could  find  a  suitable 
place.  Then,  turning  the  mare's  head  upward,  he 
started  across.  Dolly  swam  bravely  enough  until  she 
reached  the  middle  of  the  stream ;  then,  finding  her 
strength  well  nigh  exhausted  after  her  travel,  and  un- 
der the  burden  of  her  master,  she  refused  his  guidance, 
and  turned  her  head  directly  toward  the  road,  which 
offered  the  only  place  of  exit.  The  rapid  current 
swept  horse  and  rider  down  the  stream ;  but  still  Dolly 
fought  bravely,  and  at  last  struck  land  just  below  the 
road.  Morton  grasped  the  bushes  over  his  head,  urged 
Dolly  to  greater  exertions,  and  the  well-bred  creature, 
rousing  all  the  remains  of  her  magnificent  force,  suc- 
ceeded in  reaching  the  road.  Then  the  young  man 
got  down  and  caressed  her,  and,  looking  back  at  the 
water,  wondered  why  he  should  have  struggled  to 
preserve  a  life  that  he  was  not  able  to  regulate,  and 


144  THE   CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

that  promised  him  nothing  but  misery  and  embarrass- 
ment. 

The  snow  was  now  falling  rapidly,  and  Morton 
pushed  his  tired  filley  on  another  mile.  Again  he  hal- 
looed. This  time  he  was  welcomed  by  an  old  woman, 
who,  in  answer  to  his  inquiry,  said  he  might  put  the 
mare  in  the  stable.  She  didn't  ginerally  keep  no  trav- 
elers, but  it  was  too  orful  a  night  fer  a  livin'  human 
bein*  to  be  out  in.  Her  son  Jake  would  be  in  thi- 
reckly,  and  she  'lowed  he  wouldn't  turn  nobody  out 
in  sech  a  night.  'Twuz  good  ten  miles  to  the  next 
house. 

Morton  hastened  to  stable  Dolly,  and  to  feed  her, 
and  to  take  his  place  by  the  fire. 

Presently  the  son  came  in. 

"Howdy,  stranger?"  said  the  youth,  eyeing  Morton 
suspiciously.  "Is  that  air  your  mar  in  the  stable?" 

"Ye-es,"  said  Morton,  hesitatingly,  uncertain  wheth- 
er he  could  call  Dolly  his  or  not,  seeing  she  had  been 
transferred  to  Burchard. 

"Whar  did  you  come  from?" 

"  From  Hissawachee." 

"Whar  you  makin'  fer?" 

"  I  don't  exactly  know." 

"  See  here,  mister !  Akordin'  to  my  tell,  that  air's 
a  mighty  peart  sort  of  a  hoss  fer  a  feller  to  ride  what 
don'  know,  to  save  his  gizzard,  whar  he  mout  be  a 
travelin'.  We  don't  keep  no  sich  people  as  them  what 
rides  purty  hosses  and  can't  giv  no  straight  account  of 
theirselves.  Akordin'  to  my  tell,  you'll  hev  to  hitch  up 
yer  mar  and  putt.  It  mout  gin  us  trouble  to  keep  you," 


SHORT   SHRIFT.  14d 

"You  ain't  going  to  send  me  out  such  a  night  as 
this,  when  I've  rode  fifty  mile  a'ready?"  said  Morton. 

'*  What  in  thunder'd  you  ride  fifty  mile  to-day  fer  ? 
Yer  health,  I  reckon.  Now,  stranger,  I've  jist  got  one 
word  to  say  to  you,  and  that  is  this  ere:  Putt!  PUTT 
THIRECKLY!  Clar  out  of  these  'ere  diggin's !  That's 
all.  Jist  putt!" 

The  young  man  pronounced  the  vowel  in  "  put " 
very  flat,  as  it  is  sounded  in  the  first  syllable  of  "  put- 
ty," and  seemed  disposed  to  add  a  great  many  words 
to  this  emphatic  imperative  when  he  saw  how  much 
Morton  was  disinclined  to  leave  the  warm  hearth. 
"  Putt  out,  I  say !  I  ain't  afeard  of  none  of  yer  gang. 
I  hain't  got  nary  'nother  word." 

"  Well,"  said  Morton,  "  I  have  only  got  one  word-^ 
I  won't!  You  haven't  got  any  right  to  turn  a  stranger 
out  on  such  a  night." 

"Well,  then,  PI  let  the  reggilators  know  abouten 
you." 

"  Let  them  know,  then,"  said  Morton ;  and  he  drew 
nearer  the  fire. 

The  strapping  young  fellow  straitened  himself  up 
and  looked  at  Morton  in  wonder,  more  and  more  con- 
vinced that  nobody  but  an  outlaw  would  venture  on  a 
move  so  bold,  and  less  and  less  inclined  to  attempt  to 
use  force  as  his  conviction  of  Morton's  desperate  char- 
acter increased.  Goodwin,  for  his  part,  was  not  a  little 
amused ;  the  old  mischievous  love  of  fun  reasserted 
itself  in  him  as  he  saw  the  decline  of  the  young  man's 
Courage. 

**  If  you  think  I  am  one  of  Micajah  Harp's  band, 


746  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

why  don't  you  be  careful  how  you  treat  me?  The 
band  might  give  you  trouble.  Let's  have  something 
to  eat.  I  haven't  had  anything  since  last  night;  I  am 
starving." 

"  Marm,"  said  the  young  man,  "  git  him  sompin'. 
He's  tuck  the  house  and  we  can't  help  ourselves." 

Morton  had  eaten  nothing  for  twenty-four  hours, 
and  in  his  amusement  at  the  success  of  his  ruse  and 
in  the  comfortable  enjoyment  of  food  after  his  long 
fast  his  good  spirits  returned. 

When  he  awoke  the  next  morning  in  his  rude  bed 
in  the  loft,  he  became  aware  that  there  were  a  num- 
ber of  men  in  the  room  below,  and  he  could  gather 
that  they  were  talking  about  him.  He  dressed  quickly 
and  came  down-stairs.  The  first  thing  he  noticed  was 
that  the  settler  who  had  refused  him  lodging  the  night 
before  was  the  centre  of  the  group,  the  next  that  they 
had  taken  possession  of  his  rifle.  This  settler  had 
roused  the  "  reggilators,"  and  they  had  crossed  the 
creek  in  a  flat-boat  some  miles  below  and  come  up 
the  stream  determined  to  capture  this  young  horse- 
thief.  It  is  a  singular  tribute  to  the  value  of  the 
horse  that  among  barbarous  or  half -civilized  peoples 
horse-stealing  is  accounted  an  offense  more  atrocious 
than  homicide.  In  such  a  community  to  steal  a  man's 
horse  is  the  grandest  of  larcenies — it  is  to  rob  him  of 
the  stepping-stone  to  civilization. 

For  such  philosophical  reflections  as  this  last,  how. 
ever,  Morton  had  no  time.  He  was  in  the  hands  of 
an  indignant  crowd,  son  of  whom  had  lost  horses 
and  other  property  from  the  depredations  of  the  fam- 


SHORT   SHRIFT.  147 

ous  band  of  Micajah  Harp,  and  all  of  whom  were 
bent  on  exacting  the  forfeit  from  this  indifferently 
dressed  young  man  who  rode  a  horse  altogether  too 
good  for  him. 

Morton  was  conducted  three  miles  down  the  river 
to  a  log  tavern,  that  being  a  public  and  appropriate 
place  for  the  rendering  of  the  decisions  of  Judge 
Lynch,  and  affording,  moreover,  the  convenient  refresh- 
ments of  whiskey  and  tobacco  to  those  who  might 
become  exhausted  in  their  arduous  labors  on  behalf 
of  public  justice.  There  was  no  formal  trial.  The 
evidence  was  given  in  in  a  disjointed  and  spontaneous 
fashion ;  the  jury  was  composed  of  the  whole  crowd, 
and  what  the  Quakers  call  the  "  sense  of  the  meeting" 
was  gathered  from  the  general  outcry.  Educated  in 
Indian  wars  and  having  been  left  at  first  without  any 
courts  or  forms  of  justice,  the  settlers  had  come  to 
believe  their  own  expeditious  modes  of  dealing  with 
the  enemies  of  peace  and  order  much  superior  to  the 
prolix  method  of  the  lawyers  and  judges. 

And  as  for  Morton,  nothing  could  be  much  clearer 
than  that  he  was  one  of  the  gang.  The  settler  who 
had  refused  him  a  lodging  first  spoke  : 

"  You  see,  I  seed  in  three  winks,"  he  began,  "  that 
that  feller  didn't  own  the  hoss.  He  looked  kinder 
sheepish.  Well,  I  poked  a  few  questions  at  him  and 
I  reckon  I  am  the  beatin'est  man  to  ax  questions  in 
this  neck  of  timber.  I  axed  him  whar  he  come  from, 
and  he  let  it  out  that  he'd  rid  more'n  fifty  miles. 
And  I  kinder  blazed  away  at  praisin'  his  hoss  tell  I 
got  him  off  his  guard,  and  then,  unbeknownst  to  him, 


148  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

I  treed  him  suddently.  I  jest  axed  him  ef  the  hoss 
was  his'n  and  he  hemmed  and  hawed  and  says,  says 
he :  c  Well,  not  exactly  mine.'  Then  I  tole  him  to  putt 
out." 

"Did  he  tell  you  the  mar  wuzn't  adzackly  his'n?' 
put  in  the  youth  whose  unwilling  hospitality  Morton 
had  enjoyed. 

"Yes." 

"Well,  then,  he  lied  one  time  or  nuther,  that's  sar- 
tain  shore.  He  tole  me  she  wuz.  And  when  I  axed 
him  whar  he  was  agoin',  he  tole  me  he  didn'  know.  I 
suspicioned  him  then,  and  I  tole  him  to  clar  out ;  and 
he  wouldn'.  Well,  I  wuz  agoin'  to  git  down  my  gun 
and  blow  his  brains  out;  but  marm  got  skeered  and 
didn'  want  me  to,  and  I  'lowed  it  was  better  to  let 
him  stay,  and  I  'low'd  you  fellers  mout  maybe  come 
over  and  cotch  him,  or  liker'n  not  some  feller'd  come 
along  and  inquire  arter  that  air  mar.  Then  he  ups 
and  says  ef  the  ole  woman  don'  give  him  sompin'  to 
eat  she'd  ketch  it  from  Micajah  Harp's  band.  He 
said  as  how  he  was  a  member  of  that  gang.  An'  he 
said  he  hadn't  had  nothin'  to  eat  sence  the  night 
before,  havin'  rid  fer  twenty-four  hours." 

"  I  didn't  say "  began  Morton. 

"  Shet  up  your  mouth  tell  I'm  done.  Haint  you 
got  no  manners  ?  I  tole  him  as  how  I  didn't  keer 
three  continental  derns*  fer  his  whole  band  weth 
Micajah  Harp  throw'd  onto  the  top,  but  the  ole  wom- 


*  A  saying    having    its    origin,  no  doubt,  in    the  worthlessnest 
of  the  paper  money  issued  by  the  Continental  Congress. 


SHORT    SHRIFT.  149 

an  wuz  kinder  sorter  afeared  to  find  she'd  cotch  a 
rale  hoss-thief  and  she  gin  him  a  little  sompin'  to  eat. 
And  he  did  gobble  it,  I  tell  you  /" 

Young  rawbones  had  repeated  this  statement  a 
dozen  times  already  since  leaving  home  with  the 
prisoner.  But  he  liked  to  tell  it.  Morton  made  the 
best  defense  he  could,  and  asked  them  to  send  to 
Hissawachee  and  inquire,  but  the  crowd  thought  that 
this  was  only  a  ruse  to  gain  time,  and  that  if  they 
delayed  his  execution  long,  Micajah  Harp  and  his 
whole  band  would  be  upon  them. 

The  mob-court  was  unanimously  in  favor  of  hang- 
ing. The  cry  of  "  Come  on,  boys,  let's  string  him 
up,"  was  raised  several  times,  and  "  rushes "  at  him 
were  attempted^  but  these  rushes  never  went  further 
than  the  incipient  stage,  for  the  very  good  reason 
that  while  many  were  anxious  to  have  him  hung, 
none  were  quite  ready  to  adjust  the  rope.  The  law 
threatened  them  on  one  side,  and  a  dread  of  the 
vengeance  of  Micajah  Harp's  cut-throats  appalled  them 
on  the  other.  The  predicament  in  which  the  crowd 
found  themselves  was  a  very  embarrassing  one,  but 
these  administrators  of  impromptu  justice  consoled 
themselves  by  whispering  that  it  was  best  to  wait  till 
night. 

And  the  rawboned  young  man,  who  had  given 
such  eager  testimony  that  he  "  warn't  afeard  of  the 
whole  gang  with  ole  Micajah  throw'd  onto  the  top," 
concluded  about  noon  that  he  had  better  go  home — the 
ole  woman  mout  git  skeered,  you  know.  She  wuz  pow- 
erful skeery  and  mout  git  fits  liker'n  not,  you  know. 


150  THE    CIRCUIT   RIDER. 

The  weary  hours  of  suspense  drew  on.  Howevef 
ready  Morton  may  have  been  to  commit  suicide  in  a 
moment  of  rash  despair,  life  looked  very  attractive  to 
him  now  that  its  duration  was  measured  by  the  de- 
scending sun.  And  what  a  quickener  of  conscience  is 
the  prospect  of  immediate  death!  In  these  hours  the 
voice  of  Kike,  reproving  him  for  his  reckless  living, 
rang  in  his  memory  ceaselessly.  He  saw  what  a  dis- 
torted failure  he  had  made  of  life ;  he  longed  for  a 
chance  to  try  it  over  again.  But  unless  help  should 
come  from  some  unexpected  quarter,  he  saw  that  his 
probation  was  ended. 

It  is  barely  possible  that  the  crowd  might  have  be- 
come so  demoralized  by  waiting  as  to  have  let  Morton 
go,  or  at  least  to  have  handed  him  over  to  the  au- 
thorities, had  there  not  come  along  at  that  moment 
Mr.  Mellen,  the  stern  and  ungrammatical  Methodist 
preacher  of  whom  Morton  had  made  so  much  sport 
in  Wilkins's  Settlement.  Having  to  preach  at  fifty- 
eight  appointments  in  four  weeks,  he  was  somewhat 
itinerant,  and  was  now  hastening  to  a  preaching  place 
near  by.  One  of  the  crowd,  seeing  Mr.  Mellen,  sug- 
gested that  Morton  had  orter  be  allowed  to  see  a 
preacher,  and  git  "  fixed  up,"  afore  he  died.  Some  of 
the  others  disagreed.  They  warn't  nothin'  in  the  nex* 
world  too  bad  fer  a  hoss-thief,  by  jeeminy  hoe-cakes. 
They  warn't  a  stringin'  men  up  to  send  'em  to  heav- 
en, but  to  t'  other  place. 

Mellen  was  called  in,  however,  and  at  once  recog- 
nized Morton  as  the  ungodly  young  man  who  had  in- 
sulted him  and  disturbed  the  worship  of  God.  H£ 


SHORT   SHRIFT.  151 

exhorted  him  to  repent,  and  to  tell  who  was  the  own' 
er  of  the  horse,  and  to  seek  a  Saviour  who  was  ready 
to  forgive  even  the  dying  thief  upon  the  cross.  In 
vain  Morton  protested  his  innocence.  MeHen  told  him 
that  he  could  not  escape,  though  he  advised  the  crowd 
to  hand  him  over  to  the  sheriff.  But  Mellen  *s  addi- 
tional testimony  to  Morton's  bad  character  had  de- 
stroyed his  last  chance  of  being  given  up  to  the 
courts.  As  soon  as  Mr.  Mellen  went  away,  the  ar- 
rangements for  hanging  him  at  nightfall  began  to  take 
definite  shape,  and  a  rope  was  hung  over  a  limb,  in 
full  sight  of  the  condemned  man.  Mr.  Mellen  used 
with  telling  effect,  at  every  one  of  the  fifty-eight  places 
upon  his  next  round,  the  story  of  the  sad  end  of  this 
hardened  young  man,  who  had  begun  as  a  scoffer  and 
ended  as  an  impenitent  thief. 

Morton  sat  in  a  sort  of  stupor,  watching  the  sun 
descending  toward  the  horizon.  He  heard  the  rude 
voices  of  the  mob  about  him.  But  he  thought  of  Patty 
and  his  mother. 

While  the  mob  was  thus  waiting  for  night,  and 
Morton  waiting  for  death,  there  passed  upon  the  road 
an  elderly  man.  He  was  just  going  out  of  sight,  when 
Morton  roused  himself  enough  to  observe  him.  When 
he  had  disappeared,  Goodwin  was  haunted  with  the 
notion  that  it  must  be  Mr.  Donaldson,  the  old  Presby- 
terian preacher,  whose  sermons  he  had  so  often  heard 
at  the  Scotch  Settlement.  Could  it  be  that  thoughts 
of  home  and  mother  had  suggested  Donaldson?  At 
least,  the  faintest  hope  was  worth  clutching  at  in  a 
time  of  despair. 


152 


THE    CIRCUIT   RIDER. 


"Call   him   back!"   cried    Morton.     "Won't    some- 
body  call  that  old  man  back?     He  knows  me." 

Nobody  was   disposed   to   serve   the   culprit.     The 


A  LAST  HOPE. 


leaders   looked    knowingly    the    one    at  the    other,   and 
shrugged  their  shoulders- 

'*  If  you  don't  call  him  back  you  will  be    a    set  of 
murderers !"  cried  the  despairing  Goodwin 


XVIL 

DELIVERANCE. 

PARSON  DONALDSON  was  journeying  down  to 
Cincinnati — at  that  time  a  thriving  village  of 
about  two  thousand  people  —  to  attend  Presbytery 
and  to  contend  manfully  against  the  sinful  laxity  of 
some  of  his  brethren  in  the  matters  of  doctrine  and 
revivals.  In  previous  years  Mr.  Donaldson  had  been 
beaten  a  little  in  his  endeavors  to  have  carried  through 
the  extremest  measures  against  his  more  progressive 
"  new-side  "  brethren.  He  considered  the  doctrines  of 
these  zealous  Presbyterians  as  very  little  better  than 
the  crazy  ranting  of  the  ungrammatical  circuit  riders. 
At  the  moment  of  passing  the  tavern  where  Morton 
sat,  condemned  to  death,  he  was  eagerly  engaged  in, 
"  laying  out "  a  speech  with  which  he  intended  to 
rout  false  doctrines  and  annihilate  forever  incipient 
fanaticism.  His  square  head  had  fallen  forward,  and 
he  only  observed  that  there  was  a  crowd  of  god- 
less and  noisy  men  about  the  tavern.  He  could 
not  spare  time  to  note  anything  farther,  for  the  fate 
of  Zion  seemed  to  hang  upon  the  weight  and  cogency 
of  the  speech  which  he  meant  to  deliver  at  Cincinnati. 
He  had  almost  passed  out  of  sight  when  Morton  first 
caught  sight  of  him ;  and  when  the  young  man,  find- 
ing that  no  one  would  go  after  him,  set  up  a  vigorous 
calling  of  his  name,  Mr.  Donaldson  did  not  hear  itt 


T54  THE    CIRCUIT   RIDER. 

or  at  least  did  not  think  for  an  instant  that  anybody 
in  that  crowd  could  be  calling  his  own  name.  How 
should  he  hear  Morton's  cry  ?  For  just  at  that 
moment  he  had  reached  the  portion  of  his  argument 
in  which  he  triumphantly  proved  that  his  new-side 
friends,  however  unconscious  they  might  be  of  the 
fact,  AKere  of  necessity  Pelagians,  and,  hence,  guilty  of 
fatal  error. 

Morton's  earnest  entreaties  at  last  moved  one  of 
the  crowd. 

"Well,  I  don't  mind,"  he  said;  "I'll  call  him. 
'Pears  like  as  ef  he's  a-lyin'  any  how.  I  don't  'low 
as  he  knows  the  ole  coon,  or  the  ole  coon  knows  him 
— liker'n  not  he's  a-foolin'  by  lettin'  on;  but  'twont 
do  no  harm  to  call  him  back."  Saying  which,  he 
mounted  his  gaunt  horse  and  rode  away  after  Mr. 
Donaldson. 

"  Hello,  stranger !  I  say,  there  !  Mister !  O,  mister ! 
Hello,  you  ole  man  on  horseback  !  " 

This  was  the  polite  manner  of  address  with  which 
the  messenger  interrupted  the  theological  meditations 
of  the  worthy  Mr.  Donaldson  at  the  moment  of  his 
most  triumphant  anticipations  of  victory  over  his 
opponents. 

"  Well,  what  is  it  ?  "  asked  the  minister,  turning 
round  on  the  messenger  a  little  tartly ;  much  as  one 
would  who  is  suddenly  awakened  and  not  at  all  pleased 
to  be  awakened. 

"  They's  a  feller  back  here  as  we  tuck  up  fer  a 
hoss-thief,  and  we  had  three-quarters  of  a  notion  of 
stringin'  on  him  up ;  but  he  says  as  how  as  he  knows 


DELIVERANCE.  155 

you,  and  ef  you  kin  do  him  any  good,  I  hope  you'll 
do  it,  for  I  do  hate  to  see  a  feller  being  hung,  that's 
sartam  shore." 

"AJiarse-thief  says  that  he  knows  me?"  said  the 
parson,  not  yet  fairly  awake  to  the  situation.  "  Indeed  > 
I'm  in  a  great  hurry.  What  does  he  want?  Wants 
me  to  pray  with  him,  I  suppose.  Well,  it  is  never 
too  late.  God's  election  is  of  grace,  and  often  he  v 
seems  to  select  the  greatest  sinners  that  he  may  there- 
by magnify  his  grace  and  get  to  himself  a  great  name. 
I'll  go  and  see  him." 

And  with  that,  Donaldson  rode  back  to  the  tavern, 
endeavoring  to  turn  his  thoughts  out  of  the  polemical  % 
groove  in  which  they  had  been  running  all  day,  that 
he  might  think  of  some  fitting  words  to  say  to  a 
malefactor.  But  when  he  stood  before  the  young  man 
he  started  with  surprise. 

"  What !  Morton  Goodwin !  Have  you  taken  to 
stealing  horses  ?  I  should  have  thought  that  the 
unhappy  career  of  your  brother,  so  soon  cut  short  in 
God's  righteousness,  would  have  been  a  warning  to 
you.  My  dear  young  man,  how  could  you  bring  such 
disgrace  and  shame  on  the  gray  hairs  " 

Before  Mr.  Donaldson  had  gotten  to  this  point,  a 
murmur  of  excitement  went  through  the  crowd.  They 
believed  that  the  prisoner's  own  witness  had  turned 
against  him  and  that  they  had  a  second  quasi  sanction 
from  the  clergy  for  the  deed  of  violence  they  were 
meditating.  Perceiving  this,  Morton  interrupted  the 
minister  with  some  impatience,  crying  out : 

"But,    Mr.    Donaldson,  hold  on;   you  have  judged 


156  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

me  too  quick.  These  folks  are  going  to  hang  ma 
without  any  evidence  at  all,  except  that  I  was  riding 
a  good  horse.  Now,  I  want  you  to  tell  them  whose 
filley  yon  is." 

Mr  Donaldson  looked  at  the  mare  and  declared 
to  the  crowd  that  he  had  seen  this  young  man  riding 
that  colt  for  more  than  a  year  past,  and  that  if  they 
were  proceeding  against  him  on  a  charge  of  stealing 
that  mare,  they  were  acting  most  unwarrantably. 

"  Why  couldn't  he  tell  a  feller  whose  mar  he  had, 
and  whar  he  was  a-goin'  ? "  said  the  man  from  the 
other  side  of  the  river. 

"  I  don't  know.     How  did  you  come  here,  Morton?" 

"  Well,  I'll  tell  you  a  straight  story.  I  was  gam- 
bling on  Sunday  night " 

"  Breaking  two  Commandments  at  once,"  broke  in 
the  minister. 

"Yes,  sir,  I  know  it;  and  I  lost  everything  I  had 
—horse  and  gun  and  all — I  seemed  clean  crazy.  I 
lost  a  hundred  dollars  more'n  I  had,  and  I  give  the 
man  I  was  playing  with  a  bill  of  sale  for  my  horse  and 
gun.  Then  he  agreed  to  let  me  go  where  I  pleased 
and  keep  'em  for  six  months  and  I  was  ashamed 
to  go  home ;  so  I  rode  off,  like  a  fool,  hoping  to  find 
some  place  where  I  could  make  the  money  to  redeem 
my  colt  with.  That's  how  I  didn't  give  straight 
answers  about  whose  horse  it  was,  and  where  I  was 
going." 

"  Well,  neighbors,  it  seems  clear  to  me  that  you'll 
have  to  let  the  young  man  go.  You  ought  to  be 
thankful  that  God  in  his  good  providence  has  saved 


DELIVERANCE.  15) 

you  from  the  guilt  of  those  who  shed  innocent  b--'>od. 
He  is  a  very  respectable  young  man,  indeed,  and 
often  attends  church  with  his  mother.  I  am  sorry  he 
has  got  into  bad  habits." 

"  I'm  right  glad  to  git  shed  of  a  ugly  job,"  said 
one  of  the  party ;  and  as  the  rest  offered  no  object  on, 
he  cut  the  cords  that  bound  Morton's  arms  &n<)  let 
him  go.  The  landlord  had  stabled  Dolly  and  fcd  ner, 
hoping  that  some  accident  would  leave  her  in  his 
hands ;  the  man  from  the  other  side  of  the  creek  had 
taken  possession  of  the  rifle  as  "his  sheer,  considerin* 
the  trouble  he'd  tuck."  The  horse  and  gun  were  now 
reluctantly  given  up,  and  the  party  made  haste  to  dis- 
perse, each  one  having  suddenly  remembered  some 
duty  that  demanded  immediate  attention.  In  a  little 
while  Morton  sat  on  his  horse  listening  to  some  very 
earnest  words  from  the  minister  on  the  sinfulness  of 
gambling  and  Sabbath-breaking.  But  Mr.  Donaldson, 
having  heard  of  the  Methodistic  excitement  in  the 
Hissawachee  settlement,  slipped  easily  to  that,  and 
urged  Morton  not  to  have  anything  whatever  to  da 
with  this  mushroom  religion,  that  grew  up  in  a  night 
and  withered  in  a  day.  In  fact  the  old  man  delivered 
to  Morton  most  of  the  speech  he  had  prepared  for 
the  Presbytery  on  the  evil  of  religious  excitements. 
Then  he  shook  hands  with  him,  exacted  a  promise 
that  he  would  go  directly  home,  and,  with  a  few  sea- 
sonable words  on  God's  mercy  in  rescuing  him  from 
a  miserable  death,  he  parted  from  the  young  man. 
Somehow,  after  that  he  did  not  get  on  quite  so  well 
with  his  speech.  After  all,  was  it  not  betterj  perhaps, 


158  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

that  this  young  man  should  be  drawn  into  the  whirl- 
pool of  a  Methodist  excitement  than  that  he  should 
become  a  gambler?  After  thinking  over  it  a  while, 
however,  the  logical  intellect  of  the  preacher  luckily 
enabled  him  to  escape  this  dangerous  quicksand,  in 
reaching  the  sound  conclusion  that  a  religious  excite- 
ment could  only  result  in  spiritual  pride  and  Pela- 
gian doctrine,  and  that  the  man  involved  in  these 
would  be  lost  as  certainly  as  a  gambler  or  a  thief. 

Now,  lest  some  refined  Methodist  of  the  present 
day  should  be  a  little  too  severe  on  our  good  friend 
Mr.  Donaldson,  I  must  express  my  sympathy  for  the 
worthy  old  gentleman  as  he  goes  riding  along  toward  the 
scene  of  conflict.  Dear,  genteel,  and  cultivated  Meth- 

/  odist  reader,  you  who  rejoice  in  the  patristic  glory  of 
Methodism,  though  you  have  so  far  departed  from  the 
standard  of  the  fathers  as  to  wear  gold  and  costly  ap- 
parel and  sing  songs  and  read  some  novels,  be  not  too 
hard  upon  our  good  friend  Donaldson.  Had  you,  fas- 
tidious Methodist  friend,  who  listen  to  organs  and  choirs 
and  refined  preachers,  as  you  sit  in  your  cushioned  pew 

*  — had  you  lived  in  Ohio  sixty  years  ago,  would  you 
have  belonged  to  the  Methodists,  think  you?  Not  at 
all !  your  nerves  would  have  been  racked  by  their 
shouting,  your  musical  and  poetical  taste  outraged  by 
their  ditties,  your  grammatical  knowledge  shocked  be- 
yond recovery  by  their  English ;  you  could  never  have 
worshiped  in  an  excitement  that  prostrated  people  in 
religious  catalepsy,  and  threw  weak  saints  and  obsti- 
nate sinners  alike  into  the  contortions  of  the  jerks. 
It  is  easy  to  build  the  tombs  of  the  prophets  while 


DELIVERANCE.  159 

you  reap  the  harvest  they  sowed,  and  after  they  have 
been  already  canonized.  It  is  easy  to  build  the  tombs 
of  the  early  prophets  now  while  we  stone  the  prophets 
of  our  own  time,  maybe.  Permit  me,  Methodist  brother, 
to  believe  that  had  you  lived  in  the  days  of  Parson 
Donaldson,  you  would  have  condemned  these  rude 
Tishbites  as  sharply  as  he  did.  But  you  would  have 
been  wrong,  as  he  was.  For  without  them  there  must 
have  been  barbarism,  worse  than  that  of  Arkansas  and 
Texas.  Methodism  was  to  the  West  all  that  Puritan- 
ism was  to  New  England.  Both  of  them  are  sublime 
when  considered  historically ;  neither  of  them  were  very 
agreeable  to  live  with,  maybe. 

But,  alas !  I  am  growing  as  theological  as  Mr. 
Donaldson  himself.  Meantime  Morton  has  forded  the 
creek  at  a  point  more  favorable  than  his  crossing  of 
the  night  before,  and  is  riding  rapidly  homeward;  and 
ever,  as  he  recedes  from  the  scene  of  his  peril  and  ap- 
proaches his  home,  do  the  embarrassments  of  his  situ- 
ation become  more  appalling.  If  he  could  only  be 
sure  of  himself  in  the  future,  there  would  be  hope. 
But  to  a  nature  so  energetic  as  his,  there  is  no  action 
possible  but  in  a  right  line  and  with  the  whole  heart. 

In  returning,  Morton  had  been  directed  to  follow  a 
"  trace  "  that  led  him  toward  home  by  a  much  nearer 
way  than  he  had  come.  After  riding  twenty  miles,  he 
emerged  from  the  wilderness  into  a  settlement  just  as 
the  sun  was  sitting.  It  happened  that  the  house  where 
he  found  a  hospitable  supper  and  lodging  was  already 
set  apart  for  Methodist  preaching  that  evening.  After 
supper  the  shuck -bottom  chairs  and  rude  benches 


160  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

were  arranged  about  the  walls,  and  the  intermediate 
space  was  left  to  be  filled  by  seats  which  should  be 
brought  in  by  friendly  neighbors.  Morton  gathered 
from  the  conversation  that  the  preacher  was  none  other 
than  the  celebrated  Valentine  Cook,  who  was  held  in 
such  esteem  that  it  was  even  believed  that  he  had  a 
prophetic  inspiration  and  a  miraculous  gift  of  healing. 
This  "  class  "  had  been  founded  by  his  preaching,  in 
the  days  of  his  vigor.  He  had  long  since  given  up 
"  traveling,"  on  account  of  his  health.  He  was  now  a 
teacher  in  Kentucky,  being,  by  all  odds,  the  most  schol- 
arly of  the  Western  itinerants.  He  had  set  out  on  a 
journey  among  the  churches  with  whom  he  had  labor- 
ed, seeking  to  strengthen  the  hands  of  the  brethren, 
who  were  like  a  few  sheep  in  the  wilderness.  The 
old  Levantine  churches  did  not  more  heartily  welcome 
the  final  visit  of  Paul  the  Aged  than  did  the  back- 
woods churches  this  farewell  tour  of  Valentine  Cook. 

Finding  himself  thus  fairly  entrapped  again  by  a 
Methodist  meeting,  Morton  felt  no  little  agitation. 
His  mother  had  heard  Cook  in  his  younger  days,  in 
Pennsylvania,  and  he  was  thus  familiar  with  his  fame 
as  a  man  and  as  a  preacher.  Morton  was  not  only 
curious  to  hear  him;  he  entertained  a  faint  hope  that 
the  great  preacher  might  lead  him  out  of  his  embar- 
rassment. 

After  supper  Goodwin  strolled  out  through  the  trees 
trying  to  collect  his  thoughts ;  determined  at  one 
3Qoment  to  become  a  Methodist  and  end  his  struggles, 
seeking,  the  next,  to  build  a  breastwork  of  resistance 
against  the  sermon  that  he  must  hear.  Having  walked 


DELIVERANCE.  161 

some  distance  from  the  house  into  the  bushes,  he 
came  suddenly  upon  the  preacher  himself,  kneeling  in 
earnest  audible  prayer.  So  rapt  was  the  old  man  in 
his  devotion  that  he  did  not  note  the  approach  of 
Goodwin,  until  the  latter,  awed  at  sight  of  a  man 
talking  face  to  face  with  God,  stopped,  trembling, 
where  he  stood.  Cook  then  saw  him,  and,  arising, 
reached  out  his  hand  to  the  young  man,  saying  in  a 
voice  tremulous  with  emotion :  "  Be  thou  faithful  unto 
death,  and  I  will  give  thee  a  crown  of  life."  Morton 
endeavored,  in  a  few  stammering  words,  to  explain 
his  accidental  intrusion,  but  the  venerable  man  seemed 
almost  at  once  to  have  forgotten  his  presence,  for 
he  had  taken  his  seat  upon  a  log  and  appeared 
absorbed  in  thought.  Morton  retreated  just  in  time 
to  secure  a  place  in  the  cabin,  now  almost  full.  The 
members  of  the  church,  men  and  women,  as  they 
entered,  knelt  in  silent  prayer  before  taking  their  seats. 
Hardly  silent  either,  for  the  old  Methodist  could  do 
nothing  without  noise,  and  even  while  he  knelt  in 
what  he  considered  silent  prayer,  he  burst  forth  con- 
tinually in  audible  ejaculations  of  "  Ah — ah  !  "  "  O 
my  Lord,  help!"  "Hah!"  and  other  groaning  expres- 
sions of  his  inward  wrestling — groanings  easily  uttered, 
but  entirely  without  a  possible  orthography.  With 
most,  this  was  the  simple  habit  of  an  uncultivated  and 
unreserved  nature  ;  in  later  times  the  ostentatious  and 
hypocritical  did  not  fail  to  cultivate  it  as  an  evidence 
of  superior  piety 

But    now  the   room   is  full.      People   are   crowding 
the  doorways.     The  good  old-class  leader  has  shut  his 


162  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

eyes  and  turned  his  face  heavenward.  Presently  ht 
strikes  up  lustily,  leading  the  congregation  in  singing: 

"  How  tedious  and  tasteless  the  hours 
When  Jesus  no  longer  I  see  1" 

When  he  reached  the  stanza  that  declares  : 

**  While  blest  with  a  sense  of  his  love 

A  palace  a  toy  would  appear; 
And  prisons  would  palaces  prove, 

If  Jesus  would  dwell  with  me  there," 

there  were  shouts  of  "  Halleluiah !"  "  Praise  the  Lord !  " 
and  so  forth.  At  the  last  quatrain,  which  runs, 

"  O  !  drive  these  dark  clouds  from  my  sky  ! 

Thy  soul-cheering  presence  restore  ; 
Or  take  me  to  thee  up  on  high, 

Where  winter  and  clouds  are  no  more  ! M 

there  were  the  heartiest  "  Amens,"  though  they  must 
have  been  spoken  in  a  poetic  sense.  I  cannot  believe 
that  any  of  the  excellent  brethren,  even  in  that 
moment  of  exaltation,  would  really  have  desired 
translation  to  the  world  beyond  the  clouds. 

The  preacher,  in  his  meditations,  had  forgotten  his 
congregation — a  very  common  bit  of  absent-minded- 
ness with  Valentine  Cook ;  and  so,  when  this  hymn 
was  finished,  a  sister,  with  a  rich  but  uncultivated 
soprano,  started,  to  the  tune  called  "  Indian  Philos- 
opher," that  inspiring  song  which  begins: 

'*  Come  on,  my  partners  in  distress, 
My  comrades  in  this  wilderness, 

Who  still  your  bodies  feel ; 
Awhile  forget  your  griefs  and  tears, 
Look  forward  through  this  vale  of  tears 

To  that  celestial  hill." 


DELI  VERA  NCE.  163 

The  hymn  was  long,  and  by  the  time  it  was  com- 
pleted the  preacher,  having  suddenly  come  to  himself, 
entered  hurriedly,  and  pushed  forward  to  the  place 
arranged  for  him.  The  festoons  of  dried  pumpkin 
hanging  from  the  joists  reached  nearly  to  his  head; 
a  tallow  dip,  sitting  in  the  window,  shed  a  feeble 
light  upon  his  face  as  he  stood  there,  tall,  gaunt, 
awkward,  weather-beaten,  with  deep-sunken,  weird, 
hazel  eyes,  a  low  forehead,  a  prominent  nose,  coarse 
black  hair  resisting  yet  the  approach  of  age,  and  a 
tout  ensemble  unpromising,  but  peculiar.  He  began 
immediately  to  repeat  his  hymn : 

"I  saw  one  hanging  on  a  tree 

In  agony  and  blood ; 
He  fixed  his  languid  eye  on  me, 
As  near  the  cross  I  stood." 

His  tone  was  monotonous,  his  eyes  seemed  to  have 
a  fascination,  and  the  pathos  of  his  voice,  quivering 
with  suppressed  emotion,  was  indescribable.  Before 
his  prayer  was  concluded  the  enthusiastic  Morton  felt 
that  he  could  follow  such  a  leader  to  the  world's  end. 

He  repeated  his  text:  " Behold^  the  day  cometh"  and 
launched  at  once  into  a  strongly  impressive  introduc- 
tion about  the  all-pervading  presence  of  God,  until  the 
whole  house  seemed  full  of  God,  and  Morton  found 
himself  breathing  fearfully,  with  a  sense  of  God's  pres- 
ence and  ineffable  holiness.  Then  he  took  up  that 
never-failing  theme  of  the  pioneer  preacher — the  sin- 
fulness  of  sin  —  and  there  were  suppressed  cries  of 
anguish  over  the  whole  house.  Morton  could  hardly 
feel  more  contempt  for  himself  than  he  had  felt  for 


164  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

two  days  past;  but  when  the  preacher  advanced  to 
his  climax  of  the  Atonement  and  the  Forgiveness  of 
Sins,  Goodwin  felt  himself  carried  away  as  with  a  flood. 
In  that  hour,  with  God  around,  above,  beneath,  without 
and  within — with  a  feeling  that  since  his  escape  he 
held  his  life  by  a  sort  of  reprieve — with  the  inspiring 
and  persuasive  accents  of  this  weird  prophet  ringing 
in  his  ears,  he  cast  behind  him  all  human  loves,  all 
ambitious  purposes,  all  recollections  of  theological  puz- 
zles, and  set  himself  to  a  self-denying  life.  With  one 
final  battle  he  closed  his  conflict  about  Patty.  He 
would  do  right  at  all  hazards. 

Morton  never  had  other  conversion  than  this.  He 
could  not  tell  of  such  a  struggle  as  Kike's.  All  he 
knew  was  that  there  had  been  conflict.  When  once 
he  decided,  there  was  harmony  and  peace.  When  Val- 
entine Cook  had  concluded  his  rapt  peroration,  setting 
the  whole  house  ablaze  with  feeling,  and  then  pro- 
ceeded to  "  open  the  doors  of  the  church "  by  singing; 

"Am  I  a  ^soldier  of  the  Cross, 

A  follower  of  the  Lamb, 
And  shall  I  fear  to  own  his  cause, 
Or  blush  to  speak  his  name  ?" 

it  was  with  a  sort  of  military  exaltation — a  defiance 
of  the  world,  the  flesh,  and  the  devil — that  Morton 
went  forward  and  took  the  hand  of  the  preacher,  as 
a  sign  that  he  solemnly  enrolled  himself  among  those 
who  meant  to 

« conquer  though  they  die." 

He   was    accustomed    to    say   in    after   years,  using 


DELIVERANCE.  166 

the  Methodist  phraseology,  that  "God  spoke  peace 
to  his  soul  the  moment  he  made  up  his  mind  to  give 
up  all."  That  God  does  speak  to  the  heart  of  man 
in  its  great  crises  I  cannot  doubt ;  but  God  works 
with,  and  not  against,  the  laws  of  mind.  When  Mor- 
ton ceased  to  contend  with  his  highest  impulses  there 
was  no  more  discord,  and  he  was  of  too  healthful  and 
objective  a  temperament  to  have  subjective  fights  with 
fanciful  Apollyons.  When  peace  came  he  accepted  it. 
One  of  the  old  brethren  who  crowded  round  him  that 
night  and  questioned  him  about  his  experience  was 
uafeard  it  warn't  a  rale  deep  conversion.  They  wuzn't 
wras'lin*  and  strugglin*  enough."  But  the  wise  Valen- 
tine Cook  said,  when  he  took  Morton's  hand  to  say 
good-bye,  and  looked  into  his  clear  blue  eye,  **  Hold 
fast  the  beginning  of  thy  confidence,  brother." 


CHAPTER  XV Hi. 

THE    PRODIGAL    RETURNS. 

AT  last  the  knight  was  in  the  saddle.  Much  as 
Morton  grieved  when  he  thought  of  Patty,  he 
rejoiced  now  in  the  wholeness  of  his  moral  purpose. 
Vacillation  was  over.  He  was  ready  to  fight,  to 
sacrifice,  to  die,  for  a  good  cause..  It  had  been  the 
dream  of  his  boyhood ;  it  had  been  the  longing  of 
his  youth,  marred  and  disfigured  by  irregularities  as 
his  youth  had  been.  In  the  early  twilight  of  the 
winter  morning  he  rode  bravely  toward  his  first  battle 
field,  .and,  as  was  his  wont  in  moments  of  cheerfulness, 
he  sang.  But  not  now  the  "  Highland  Mary,"  or 
"  Ca*  the  yowe's  to  the  knowes,"  but  a  hymn  of 
Charles  Wesley's  he  had  heard  Cook  sing  the  night 
before,  some  stanzas  of  which  had  strongly  impressed 
him  and  accorded  ~xactly  with  his  new  mood,  and 
his  anticipation  of  trouble  and  the  loss  ot 
perhaps,  from  his  religious  life : 

"In  hope  of  that  immortal  crown 

I  now  the  Cross  sustain, 
And  gladly  wander  up  and  down. 

And  smile  at  toil  and  pain ; 
I  antler  on  my  threescore  years, 

Till  my  Deliverer  come 


THE    PRODIGAL    RETURNS. 

And  wipe  away  his  servant's  tears, 
And  take  his  exile  home, 


*O,  what  are  all  my  sufferings  hew 

If,  Lord,  thou  count  me  meet 
With  that  enraptured  host  to  appeal 

And  worship  at  thy  feet ! 
Give  joy  or  grief,  give  ease  or  pain. 

Take  life  or  friends  away, 
But  let  me  find  them  all  again 

In  that  eternal  day." 

Long  before  he  had  reached  Hissawachee  he  had 
ceased  to  sing.  He  was  painfully  endeavoring  to 
imagine  how  he  would  be  received  at  home  and  at 
Captain  Lumsden's. 

At  home,  the  wan  mother  sat  in  the  dull  winter 
twilight,  trying  to  keep  her  heart  from  fainting  en- 
tirely. The  story  of  Morton's  losses  at  cards  had 
quickly  reached  the  settlement — with  the  easy  addition 
that  he  had  fled  to  escape  paying  his  debt  of  dis- 
honor, and  had  carried  off  the  horse  and  gun  which 
another  had  won  from  him  in  gambling.  This  last, 
the  mother  steadily  refused  to  believe.  It  could  not 
be  that  Morton  would  quench  all  the  manly  impulses 
of  his  youth  and  follow  in  the  steps  of  ^  his  prodigal 
brother,  Lewis.  For  Morton  was  such  a  boy  as  Lewis 
had  never  been,  and  the  thought  of  his  deserting  his 
home  and  falling  finally  into  bad  practices,  had  brought 
to  Mrs.  Goodwin  an  agony  that  was  next  door  to 
heart-break.  Job  Goodwin  had  abandoned  all  work 
and  taken  to  his  congenial  employment  of  sighing 


t68  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

and  croaking  in  the  chimney-corner,  building  innumer> 
able  Castles  of  Doubt  for  the  Giant  Despair. 

Mrs.  Wheeler  came  in  to  comfort  her  friend. 
**  I  am  sure,  Mrs.  Goodwin,"  she  said,  "  Morton  will 
yet  be  saved;  I  have  been  enabled  to  pray  for  him 
with  faith." 

In  spite  of  her  sorrow,  Mrs.  Goodwin  could  not 
help  thinking  that  it  was  very  inconsistent  for  an 
Arminian  to  believe  that  God  would  convert  a  man 
in  answer  to  prayer,  when  Arminians  professed  to 
believe  that  a  man  could  be  a  Christian  or  not  as  he 
pleased.  Willing,  however,  to  lay  the  blame  of  her 
misfortune  on  anybody  but  Morton,  she  said,  half 
peevishly,  that  she  wished  the  Methodists  had  never 
come  to  the  settlement.  Morton  had  been  in  a  hope- 
ful state  of  mind,  and  they  had  driven  him  to  wicked- 
ness. Otherwise  he  would  doubtless  have  been  a 
Christian  by  this  time. 

And  now  Mrs.  Wheeler,  on  her  part,  thought  — 
1  but  did  not  say — that  it  was  most  absurd  for  Mrs. 
Goodwin  to  complain  of  anything  having  driven 
Morton  away  from  salvation,  since,  according  to  her 
Calvinistic  doctrine,  he  must  be  saved  anyhow  if  he 
were  elected.  It  is  so  easy  to  be  inconsistent  when 
we  try  to  reason  about  God's  relation  to  his  creatures ; 
and  so  easy  to  see  absurdity  in  any  creed  but  our 
own! 

The  twilight  deepened,  and  Mrs.  Goodwin,  unable 
now  to  endure  the  darkness,  lit  her  candle.  Then 
there  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  Ever  since  Sunday 
the  mother,  waiting  between  hope  and  despair,  had 


THE    PRODIGAL    RETURNS.  169 

turned  pale  at  every  sound  of  footsteps  without.  Now 
she  called  out,  "Come  in!"  in  a  broken  voice,  and 
Mr.  Brady  entered,  having  just  dismissed  his  school. 

"  Troth,  me  dair  madam,  it's  not  meself  that  can 
give  comfort.  I'm  sure  to  say  something  not  intoirely 
proper  to  the  occasion,  whiniver  I  talk  .to  anybody  in 
throuble — something  that  jars  loike  a  varb  that  disa- 
grees with  its  nominative  in  number  and  parson,  as  I 
may  say.  But  I  thought  I  ought  to  come  and  say 
you,  and  till  you  as  I  don't  belave  Moirton  would  do 
anything  very  bad,  an'  I'm  shoore  he'll  be  home  afore 
the  wake's  out.  I've  soiphered  it  out  by  the  Rule  of 
Thray.  As  Moirton  Goodwin  wuz  to  his  other  throu- 
bles — comin'  out  all  roight — so  is  Moiiton  Goodwin  to 
his  present  dif/fculties.  If  the  first  term  and  the  third 
is  the  same,  then  the  sicond  and  the  fourth  has  got 
to  be  idintical.  Perhaps  I'm  talkin'  too  larned;  but 
you're  an  eddicated  woman,  Mrs.  Goodwin,  and  you 
can  say  that  me  dimonsthration's  entoirely  corrict. 
Moirton  '11  fetch  the  answer  set  down  in  the  book 
ivery  toime,  without  any  remainder  or  mistake.  Thair's 
no  vulgar  fractions  about  him." 

"Fractious,  did  you  say?"  spoke  in  Job  Goodwin, 
who  had  held  his  hand  up  to  his  best  ear,  to  hear 
what  Brady  was  saying.  "  No,  I  don't  'low  he  was 
fractious,  fer  the  mos'  part.  But  he's  gone  now,  and 
he'll  git  killed  like  I*w  did,  and  we'll  all  hev  the 
fever,  and  then  they'll  be  a  war  weth  the  Bridish,  and 
the  Injuns  '11  be  on  us,  and  it  'pears  like  as  if  they 
wa'n't  no  eend  of  troubles  a-comin'.  Hey?" 

At  that  very  moment  the  latch  was  jerked  up  and 


170  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

Henry  came  bursting  into  the  room,  gasping  from  ex- 
citement. 

"What  is  it?  Injuns?"  asked  Mr.  Goodwin,  get- 
ting  to  his  feet. 

But  Henry  gasped  again. 

"Spake!"  said  Brady.     "Out  wid  it!" 

"Mort's — a-puttin' — Dolly — in  the  stable!"  said  the 
breathless  boy. 

"Dolly's  in  the  stable,  did  you  say?"  queried  Job 
Goodwin,  sitting  down  again  hopelessly.  "  Then  some- 
body— Injuns,  robbers,  or  somebody — 's  killed  Mort, 
and  she's  found  her  way  back!" 

While  Mr.  Goodwin  was  speaking,  Mrs.  Wheeler 
slipped  out  of  the  open  door,  that  she  might  not  in- 
trude upon  the  meeting;  but  Brady — oral  newspaper 
that  he  was — waited,  with  the  true  journalistic  spirit, 
for  an  interview.  Hardly  had  Job  Goodwin  finished 
his  doleful  speech,  when  Morton  himself  crossed  the 
threshold  and  reached  out  his  hand  to  his  mother, 
while  she  reached  out  both  hands  and  —  did  what 
mothers  have  done  for  returning  prodigals  since  the 
world  was  made.  Her  husband  stood  by  bewildered, 
trying  to  collect  his  wits  enough  to  understand  how 
Morton  could  have  been  murdered  by  robbers  or 
Indians  and  yet  stand  there.  Not  until  the  mother 
released  him,  and  Morton  turned  and  shook  hands 
with  his  father,  did  the  father  get  rid  of  the  illusion 
that  his  son  was  certainly  dead. 

"Well,  Moirton,"  said  Brady,  coming  out  of  the 
shadow,  "  I'm  roight  glad  to  see  ye  back.  I  tould  'em 
ye'd  bay  home  to-noight,  maybe.  I  soiphered  it  out 


THE    PRODIGAL    RETURNS.  17\ 

by  the  Single  Rule  of  Thray  that  ye'd  git  back  about 
this  toime.  One  day  fer  sinnin',  one  day  fer  throyin' 
to  run  away  from  yersilf,  one  day  for  repintance,  and 
the  nixt  the  prodigal  son  falls  on  his  mother's  neck 
and  confisses  his  sins." 

Morton  was  glad  to  find  Brady  present;  he  was  a 
safeguard  against  too  much  of  a  scene.  And  to  avoid 
speaking  of  subjects  more  unpleasant,  he  plunged  at 
once  into  an  account  of  his  adventure  at  Brewer's 
Hole,  and  of  his  arrest  for  stealing  his  own  horse. 
Then  he  told  how  he  had  escaped  by  the  good  offices 
of  Mr.  Donaldson.  Mrs.  Goodwin  was  secretly  de- 
lighted at  this.  It  was  a  new  bond  between  the  young 
man  and  the  minister,  and  now  at  last  she  should  see 
Morton  converted.  The  religious  experience  Morton 
reserved.  He  wanted  to  break  it  to  his  mother  alone, 
and  he  wanted  to  be  the  first  to  speak  of  it  to  Patty. 
And  so  it  happened  that  Brady,  having  gotten,  as  he 
supposed,  a  full  account  of  Morton's  adventures,  and 
being  eager  to  tell  so  choice  and  fresh  a  story,  found 
himself  unable  to  stay  longer.  But  just  as  he  reached 
the  door,  it  occurred  to  him  that  if  he  did  not  tell 
Morton  at  once  what  had  happened  in  his  absence, 
some  one  else  would  anticipate  him.  He  had  sole  pos- 
session of  Morton's  adventure  anyhow  \  so  he  straight- 
ened himself  up  against  the  door  and  said : 

"An'  did  ye  hear  what  happened  to  Koike,  the 
whoile  ye  was  gone,  Moirton?" 

"Nothing  bad,  I  hope,"  said  Morton. 

"Ye  may  belave  it  was  bad,  or  ye  may  take  it  to 
be  good,  as  ye  plase.  Ye  know  how  Koike  was  bilia* 


172  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

over  to  shoot  his  uncle,  afore  ye  went  away  in  the 
fall.  Will,  on'y  yisterday  the  Captin  he  jist  met 
Koike  in  the  road,  and  gives  him  some  hard  words  fer 
savin'  what  he  did  to  him  last  Sunthay.  An'  fwat 
does, Koike  do  but  bowldly  begins  another  exhortation, 
tellin'  the  Captin  he  was  a  sinner  as  desarved  to  go 
to  hill,  an'  that  he'd  git  there  if  he  didn't  whale  about 
and  take  the  other  thrack.  An'  fwat  does  the  Captin 
do  but  up  wid  the  flat  of  his  hand  and  boxes  Koike's 
jaw.  An'  I  thought  Koike  would  'a*  sarved  him  as 
Magruder  did  Jake  Sniger.  But  not  a  bit  of  it !  He 
fired  up  rid,  and  thin  got  pale  immajiately.  Thin  he 
turned  round  t'other  soide  of  his  face,  and,  wid  a 
thremblin'  voice,  axed  the  Captin  if  he  didn't  want  to 
slap  that  chake  too?  An'  the  Captin  swore  at  him 
fer  a  hypocrite,  and  thin  put  out  for  home  wid  the 
jerks;  an'  he's  been  a-lookin'  loike  a  sintince  that 
couldn'  be  parsed  iver  sence." 

"I  wonder  Kike  bore  it.  I  don't  think  I  could," 
said  Morton,  meditatively. 

"Av  coorse  ye  couldn't.  Ye 're  not  a  convarted 
Mithodist  But  I  must  be  goin*.  I'm  a-boardin*  at 
the  Captin's  now." 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

PATTY. 

PATTY'S  whole  education  tended  to  foster  her  pride, 
and  in  Patty's  circumstances  pride  was  conserva- 
tive; it  saved  her  from  possible  assimilation  with  the 
vulgarity  about  her.  She  was  a  lily  among  hollyhocks. 
Her  mother  had  come  of  an  "  old  family  " — in  truth,  f- 
of  two  or  three  old  families.  All  of  them  had  consid- 
ered that  attachment  to  the  Established  Church  was 
part  and  parcel  of  their  gentility,  and  most  of  them 
had  been  staunch  Tories  in  the  Revolution.  Patty 
had  inherited  from  her  mother  refinement,  pride,  and 
a  certain  lofty  inflexibility  of  disposition.  In  this  con- 
genial soil  Mrs.  Lumsden  had  planted  traditional  prej- 
udices. Patty  read  her  Prayer-book,  and  wished  that 
she  might  once  attend  the  stately  Episcopal  service ; 
she  disliked  the  lowness  of  all  the  sects  :  the  sing-song 
of  the  Baptist  preacher  and  the  rant  of  the  Methodist 
itinerant  were  equally  distasteful.  She  had  never  seen 
a  clergyman  in  robes,  but  she  tried,  from  her  mother's 
descriptions,  to  form  a  mental  picture  of  the  long- 
drawn  dignity  of  the  service  in  an  Old  Virginia  country 
church.  Patty  was  imaginative,  like  most  girls  of  her 
age;  but  her  ideals  were  ruled  by  the  pride  in  which 
she  had  been  cradled. 

For  the  Methodists  she  entertained  a  peculiar  aver- 


'  1H  THE    CIRCUIT   RIDER. 

sion.  Methodism  was  new,  and,  like  everything  new, 
•'  lacked  traditions,  picturesqueness,  mustiness,  and  a*J 
the  other  essentials  of  gentility  in  religious  matters. 
The  converts  were  rude,  vulgar,  and  poor ;  the  preach- 
ers were  illiterate,  and  often  rough  in  voice  and 
speech ;  they  made  war  on  dancing  and  jewelry,  and 
dancing  and  jewelry  appertained  to  good -breeding. 
Ever  since  her  father  had  been  taken  with  that  strange 
disorder  called  "the  jerks,"  she  had  hated  the  Meth- 
odists worse  than  ever.  They  had  made  a  direct 
attack  on  her  pride. 

The  story  of  Morton's  gambling  had  duly  reached 
the  ears  of  Patty.  The  thoughtful  unkindness  of  her 
father  could  not  leave  her  without  so  delectable  a 
morsel  of  news.  He  felt  sure  that  Patty's  pride 
would  be  outraged  by  conduct  so  reckless,  and  he 
omitted  nothing  from  the  tale — the  loss  of  horse  and 
gun,  the  offer  to  stake  his  hat  and  coat,  the  proposal 
to  commit  suicide,  the  flight  upon  the  forfeited  horse — 
such  were  the  items  of  Captain  Lumsden's  story.  He 
told  it  at  the  table  in  order  to  mortify  Patty  as  much 
as  possible  in  the  presence  of  her  brothers  and  sisters 
and  the  hired  men.  But  the  effect  was  quite  different 
from  his  expectations.  With  that  inconsistency  char- 
acteristic of  the  most  sensible  women  when  they  are 
in  love,  Patty  only  pitied  Morton's  misfortunes.  She 
saw  him,  in  her  imagination,  a  hapless  and  homeless 
wanderer.  She  would  not  abandon  him  in  his  mis- 
fortunes. He  should  have  one  friend  at  least.  She 
was  sorry  he  had  gambled,  but  gambling  was  not 
inconsistent  with  gentlemanliness.  She  had  often 


PATTY.  175 

heard  that  her  mother  would  have  inherited  a  planta- 
tion if  her  grandfather  had  been  able  to  let  cards 
alone.  Gambling  was  the  vice  of  gentlemen,  a  gen- 
erous and  impulsive  weakness.  Then,  too,  she  laid 
the  blame  on  her  favorite  scape-goat.  If  it  had  not 
been  for  Kike's  exciting  exhortation  and  the  incon- 
siderate violence  of  the  Methodist  revival,  Morton's 
misfortune  would  not  have  befallen  him.  Patty  for- 
gave in  advance.  Love  condones  all  sins  except  sins 
against  love. 

It  was  with  more  than  his  usual  enjoyment  of 
gossip  that  the  school-master  hurried  home  to  the 
Captain's  that  evening  to  tell  the  story  of  Morton's 
return,  and  to  boast  that  he  had  already  soiphered  it 
out  by  the  single  Rule  of  Thray  that  Moirton  would 
come  out  roight.  The  Captain,  as  he  ate  his  waffles 
with  country  molasses,  slurred  the  whole  thing,  and 
wanted  to  know  if  he  was  going  to  refuse  to  pay  a 
debt  of  honor  and  keep  the  mare,  when  he  had  fairly 
lost  her  gambling  with  Burchard.  But  Patty  inly 
resolved  to  show  her  lover  more  affection  than  ever. 
She  would  make  him  feel  that  her  love  would  be 
constant  when  the  friendship  of  others  failed.  She 
liked  to  flatter  herself,  as  other  young  women  have  to 
their  cost,  that  her  love  would  reform  her  lover. 

Patty  knew  he  would  come.  She  went  about  her 
work  next  morning,  humming  some  trifling  air,  that 
she  might  seem  nonchalant.  But  after  awhile  she 
happened  to  think  that  her  humming  was  an  indica- 
tion of  pre-occupation.  So  she  ceased  to  hum.  Then 
she  remembered  that  people  would  certainly  interpret 


176  THE    CIRCUIT   RIDER. 

silence  as  indicative  of  meditation ;  she  immediately 
fell  a-talking  with  might  and  main,  until  one  of  the 
younger  girls  asked  :  "  What  does  make  Patty  talk  so 
much  ?"  Upon  which,  Patty  ceased  to  talk  and  went 
to  work  harder  than  ever;  but,  being  afraid  that  the 
eagerness  with  which  she  worked  would  betray  her, 
she  tried  to  work  more  slowly  until  that  was  observed. 
The  very  devices  by  which  we  seek  to  hide  mental 
pre-occupation  generally  reveal  it. 

At  last  Patty  was  fain  to  betake  herself  to  the 
loom-room,  where  she  could  think  without  having  her 
thoughts  guessed  at.  Here,  too,  she  would  be  alone 
when  Morton  should  come. 

Poor  Morton,  having  told  his  mother  of  his  relig- 
ious change,  found  it  hard  indeed  to  tell  Patty.  But 
he  counted  certainly  that  she  would  censure  him  for 
gambling,  which  would  make  it  so  much  easier  for 
him  to  explain  to  her  that  the  only  way  for  him  to 
escape  from  vice  was  to  join  the  Methodists,  and  thus 
give  up  all  to  a  better  life.  He  shaped  some  sen- 
tences founded  upon  this  supposition.  But  after  all 
his  effort  at  courage,  and  all  his  praying  for  grace  to 
help  him  to  "  confess  Christ  before  men,"  he  found 
the  cross  exceedingly  hard  to  bear;  and  when  he  set 
his  foot  upon  the  threshold  of  the  loom-room,  his 
heart  was  in  his  mouth  and  his  face  was  suffused  with 
guilty  blushes.  Ah,  weak  nature !  He  was  not  blush- 
ing  for  his  sins,  but  for  his  repentance ! 

Patty,  seeing  his  confusion,  determined  to  make 
him  feel  how  full  of  forgiveness  love  was.  She  saw 
nobleness  in  his  very  shame,  and  she  generously 


PATTY.  177 

resolved  that  she  would  not  ask,  that  she  would  not 
allow,  a  confession.  She  extended  her  hand  cordially 
and  beamed  upon  him,  and  told  him  how  glad  she 
was  that  he  had  come  back,  and — and — well — ;  she 
couldn't  find  anything  else  to  say,  but  she  urged  him 
to  sit  down  and  handed  him  a  splint-bottom  chairt 
and  tried  for  the  life  of  her  to  think  of  something  to 
say — the  silence  was  so  embarrassing.  But  talking  for 
talk's  sake  is  always  hard.  One  talks  as  one  breathes  I 
— best  when  volition  has  nothing  to  do  with  it. 

The  silence  was  embarrassing  to  Morton,  but  not 
half  so  much  so  as  Patty's  talk.  For  he  had  not 
expected  this  sort  of  an  opening.  If  she  had  accused 
him  of  gambling,  if  she  had  spurned  him,  the  road 
would  have  been  plain.  But  now  that  she  loved  him 
and  forgave  him  of  her  own  sweet  generosity,  how 
should  he  smite  her  pride  in  the  face  by  telling  her 
that  he  had  joined  himself  to  the  illiterate,  vulgar 
fanatical  sect  of  ranting  Methodists,  whom  she  utterly 
despised  ?  Truly  the  Enemy  had  set  an  unexpected 
snare  for  his  unwary  feet.  He  had  resolved  to  con- 
fess his  religious  devotion  with  heroic  courage,  but  he 
had  not  expected  to  be  disarmed  in  this  fashion.  He 
talked  about  everything  else,  he  temporized,  he  allowed 
her  to  turn  the  conversation  as  she  would,  hoping 
vainly  that  she  would  allude  to  his  gambling.  But 
she  did  not.  Could  it  be  that  she  had  not  heard  of 
it?  Must  he  then  reveal  that  to  her  also? 

While  he  was  debating  the  question  in  his  mind, 
Patty,  imagining  that  he  was  reproaching  himself  for 
the  sin  and  folly  of  gambling,  began  to  talk  of  what 


178  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

had  happened  in  the  neighborhood — how  Jake  Snigei 
u  fell  with  the  power "  on  Sunday  and  got  drunk  on 
Tuesday :  "  that's  all  this  Methodist  fuss  amounts  to, 
you  know,"  she  said.  Morton  thought  it  ungracious  to 
blurt  out  at  this  moment  that  he  was  a  Methodist: 
there  would  be  an  air  of  contradiction  in  the  avowal ; 
so  he  sat  still  while  Patty  turned  all  the  sobbing  and 
sighing,  and  shouting  and  loud  praying  of  the  meet- 
ings into  ridicule.  And  Morton  became  conscious 
that  it  was  getting  every  minute  more  and  more  diffi- 
cult for  him  to  confess  his  conversion.  He  thought  it 
better  to  return  to  his  gambling  for  a  starting  point. 

"  Did  you  hear  what  a  bad  boy  I've  been,  Patty  ?" 

*'  Oh !  yes.  I'm  sorry  you  got  into  such  a  bad 
scrape ;  but  don't  say  any  more  about  it,  Morton. 
You're  too  good  for  me  with  all  your  faults,  and  you 
won't  do  it  any  more." 

"But  I  want  to  tell  you  all  about  it,  and  what 
happened  while  I  was  gone.  I'm  afraid  you'll  think 
too  hard  of  me — " 

"But  I  don't  think  hard  of  you  at  all,  and  I  don't 
want  to  hear  about  it  because  it  is  n't  pleasant.  It'll 
all  come  out  right  at  last:  I'd  a  great  deal  rather 
have  you  a  little  wild  at  first  than  a  hard  Methodist, 
like  Kike,  for  instance." 

"  But—" 

"  I  tell  you,  Morton,  I  won't  hear  a  word.  Not 
one  word.  I  want  you  to  feel  that  whatever  anybody 
else  may  say,  I  know  you're  all  right." 

You  think  Morton  very  weak.  But,  do  you  know 
how  exceedingly  sweet  is  confidence  from  one  you 


PATTY.  179 

love,  when  there  is  only  censure,  and  suspicion,  and 
dark  predictions  of  evil  from  everybody  else  ?  Poor 
Morton  could  not  refuse  to  bask  in  the  sunshine  for 
a  moment  after  so  much  of  storm.  It  is  not  the  north 
wind,  but  the  southern  breezes  that  are  fatal  to  the 
ice-berg's  voyage  into  sunny  climes. 

At  last  he  rose  to  go.  He  felt  himself  a  Peter. 
He  had  denied  the  Master! 

"  Patty,"  he  said,  with  resolution,  "  I  have  not 
been  honest  with  you.  I  meant  to  tell  you  something 
when  I  first  came,  and  I  didn't.  It  is  hard  to  have 
to  give  up  your  love.  But  I'm  afraid  you  won't  care 
for  me  when  I  tell  you — " 

The  severity  of  Morton's  penitence  only  touched 
Patty  the  more  deeply. 

"  Morton,"  she  said,  interrupting,  "  if  you've  done 
anything  naughty,  I  forgive  you  without  knowing  it. 
But  I  don't  want  to  hear  any  more  about  it,  I  tell 
you."  And  with  that  the  blushing  Patty  held  her 
cheek  up  for  her  betrothed  to  kiss,  and  when  Morton, 
trembling  with  conflicting  emotions,  had  kissed  her  for 
the  first  time,  she  slipped  away  quickly  to  prevent  his 
making  any  painful  confessions. 

For  a  moment  Morton  stood  charmed  with  her 
goodness.  When  he  believed  himself  to  have  con- 
quered, he  found  himself  vanquished. 

In  a  dazed  sort  of  way  he  walked  the  greater  part 
of  the  distance  home.  He  might  write  to  her  about 
it.  He  might  let  her  hear  it  from  others.  But  he 
rejected  both  as  unworthy  of  a  man.  The  memory  of 
the  kiss  thrilled  him,  and  he  was  tempted  to  throw 


180  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

away  his  Methodism  and  rejoice  in  the  love  of  Patty; 
now  so  assured.  But  suddenly  he  seemed  to  himseli 
to  be  another  Judas.  He  had  not  denied  the  Lord — • 
he  had  betrayed  him ;  and  with  a  kiss ! 

Horrified  by  this  thought,  Morton  hastened  back 
toward  Captain  Lumsden's.  He  entered  the  loom- 
room,  but  it  was  vacant.  He  went  into  the  living- 
room,  and  there  he  saw  not  Patty  alone,  but  the  whole 
family.  Captain  Lumsden  had  at  that  moment  entered 
by  the  opposite  door.  Patty  was  carding  wool  with 
hand-cards,  and  she  looked  up,  startled  at  this  re- 
appearance of  her  lover  when  she  thought  him  happily 
dismissed. 

"  Patty,"  said  Morton,  determined  not  to  fall  into 
any  devil's  snare  by  delay,  and  to  atone  for  his  great 
sin  by  making  his  profession  as  public  as  possible, 
"  Patty,  what  I  wanted  to  say  was,  that  I  have  deter- 
mined to  be  a  Christian,  and  I  have  joined — the — 
Methodist — Church." 

Morton's  sense  of  inner  conflict  gave  this  utterance 
an  unfortunate  sound  of  defiance,  and  it  aroused  all 
Patty's  combativeness.  It  was  in  fact  a  death  wound 
to  her  pride.  She  had  feared  sometimes  that  Morton 
would  be  drawn  into  Methodism,  but  that  he  should 
join  the  despised  sect  without  so  much  as  consulting 
her  was  more  than  she  could  bear.  This,  then,  was  the 
way  in  which  her  forbearance  and  forgiveness  were 
rewarded!  There  stood  her  father,  sneering  like  a 
Mephistopheles.  She  would  resent  the  indignity,  and 
at  the  same  time  show  her  power  over  her  lover. 

"Morton,  if  you   are  a  Methodist,  I  never  want  to 


PATTY.  *8i 

*ee  you  again,"  she  said,  with  lofty  pride,  and  a 
solemn  awfulness  of  passion  more  terrible  than  an 
oath. 

"Don't  say  that,  Patty!"  stammered  Morton. 
stretching  his  hands  out  in  eager,  despairing  entreaty .» 
But  this  only  gave  Patty  the  greater  assurance  that  a 
little  decision  on  her  part  would  make  him  give  up 
his  Methodism. 


*\    do    say    it,    Morton,    and    I    will    never 
It  back."     There   was  a  sternness  in  the  tthite  face 


182  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

and  a  fire  in  the  black  eyes  that  left  Morton  IM 
hope. 

But  he  straightened  himself  up  now  to  his  full  six 
feet,  and  said,  with  manly  stubbornness :  "  Then,  Patty, 
since  you  make  me  choose,  I  shall  not  give  up  the 
Lord,  even  for  you.  But,"  he  added,  with  a  broken 
voice,  as  he  turned  away,  "may  God  help  me  to 
bear  it." 

Ah,  Matilda  Maria!  if  Morton  were  a  knight  in 
armor  giving  up  his  ladye  love  for  the  sake  of  mon- 
astic religiousness,  how  admirable  he  would  be !  But 
even  in  his  homespun  he  is  a  man  making  the  great- 
est of  sacrifices.  It  is  not  the  garb  or  the  age  that 
makes  sublime  a  soul's  offering  of  heart  and  hope  to 
duty.  When  Morton  was  gone  Lumsden  chuckled 
not  a  little,  and  undertook  to  praise  Patty  for  he) 
courage;  but  I  have  understood  that  she  resented  his 
compliments,  and  poured  upon  him  some  severe  de- 
nunciation, in  which  the  Captain  heard  more  truth 
than  even  Kike  had  ventured  to  utter.  Such  are 
the  inconsistencies  of  a  woman  when  her  heart  is 
wounded, 

It  seems  a  trifle  to  tell  just  here,  when  Morton 
<md  Patty  are  in  trouble — but  you  will  want  to  know 
about  Brady.  He  was  at  Colonel  Wheeler's  that 
evening,  eagerly  telling  of  Morton's  escape  from  lynch, 
ing,  when  Mrs.  Wheeler  expressed  her  gratification  that 
Morton  had  ceased  to  gamble  and  become  a  Meth- 
odist 

u  Mithodist  ?     He's  no  Mithodist." 

"  Yes,  he  is,"  responded  Mrs.  Wheeler,  "  his  mothef 


PATTY.  18S 

told  me  so;  and  what's  more,  she  said  she  was  glad 
of  it."  Then,  seeing  Brady's  discomfiture,  she  added : 
"You  didn't  get  all  the  news  that  time,  Mr.  Brady," 

"Well,  me  dair  madam,  when  I'm  admithed  to  a 
family  intervoo,  it's  not  proper  fer  me  to  tell  all  I 
heerd.  I  didn't  know  the  fact  was  made  public  yit, 
and  so  I  had  to  denoy  it.  It's  the  honor  of  a  Oirish 
gintleman,  ye  know." 

What  a  journalist  he  would  have  made  1 


CHAPTER    XX. 

THE   CONFERENCE   AT   HICKORY    RIDGE. 

rORE  than  two  years  have  passed  since  Morton 
IVJL  made  his  great  sacrifice.  You  may  see  him 
now  riding  up  to  the  Hickory  Ridge  Church — a 
"  hewed-log "  country  meeting-house,  fie  is  dressed 
in  homespun  clothes.  At  the  risk  of  compromising  him 
forever,  I  must  confess  that  his  coat  is  straight^ 
breasted — shad-bellied  as  the  profane  call  it — and  his 
best  hat  a  white  one  with  a  broad  brim.  The  face 
is  still  fresh,  despite  the  conflicts  and  hardships  of  one 
year's  travel  in  the  mountains  of  Eastern  Kentucky, 
and  the  sickness  and  exposure  of  another  year  in  the 
malarious  cane-brakes  of  Western  Tennessee.  Perils  of 
Indians,  perils  of  floods,  perils  of  alligators,  perils  of 
bad  food,  perils  of  cold  beds,  perils  of  robbers,  perils 
of  rowdies,  perils  of  fevers,  and  the  weariness  of  five 
thousand  miles  of  horseback  riding  in  a  year,  with  five 
or  six  hundred  preachings  in  the  same  time,  and  the 
care  of  numberless  scattered  churches  in  the  wilder- 
ness have  conspired  to  give  sedateness  to  his  counte- 
nance. And  yet  there  is  a  youthfulness  about  the 
sun-browned  cheeks,  and  a  lingering  expression  of  that 
sort  of  humor  which  Western  people  call  "  mischief " 
about  the  eyes,  that  match  but  grotesquely  with  white 
hat  and  shad-belied  coat. 


THE    CONFERENCE  AT  HICKORY  RIDGE.      185 
has    been    a    preacher    almost    ever    since   he 


.He 

became  a  Methodist. 


How  did  he  get  his  theological 


GOING  TO  CONFERENCE. 

education  ?  It  used  to  be  said  that  Methodist  preach- 
ers were  educated  by  the  old  ones  telling  the  young 
ones  all  they  knew ;  but  besides  this  oral  instruction 
Morton  carried  in  his  saddle-bags  John  Wesley's  simple, 
solid  sermons,  Charles  Wesley's  hymns,  and  a  Bible. 
Having  little  of  the  theory  and  system  of  theology,  he 
was  free  to  take  lessons  in  the  larger  school  of  life 


186  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

and  practical  observation.  For  the  rest,  the  free  criti- 
cism to  which  he  was  subject  from  other  preachers, 
and  the  contact  with  a  few  families  of  refinement,  had 
obliterated  his  dialect.  Naturally  a  gentleman  at  heart, 
he  had,  from  the  few  stately  gentlemen  that  he  met, 
quickly  learned  to  be  a  gentleman  in  manners.  He  is 
regarded  as  a  young  man  of  great  promise  by  the  older 
brethren;  his  clear  voice  is  very  charming,  his  strong 
and  manly  speech  and  his  tender  feeling  are  very  in- 
spiring, and  on  his  two  circuits  he  has  reported  extra- 
ordinary revivals.  Some  of  the  old  men  sagely  predict 
that  "he's  got  bishop-timber  in  him,"  but  no  such 
ambitious  dreams  disturb  his  sleep.  He  has  not  "  gone 
into  a  decline "  on  account  of  Patty.  A  healthy 
nature  will  bear  heavy  blows.  But  there  is  a  pain, 
somewhere — everywhere — in  his  being,  when  he  thinks 
of  the  girl  who  stood  just  above  him  in  the  spell- 
ing-class, and  who  looked  so  divine  when  she  was 
spinning  her  two  dozen  cuts  a  day.  He  does  not  like 
this  regretful  feeling.  He  prays  to  be  forgiven  for  it. 
He  acknowledges  in  class-meeting  and  in  love-feast 
that  he  is  too  much  like  Lot's  wife — he  finds  his  heart 
prone  to  look  back  toward  the  objects  he  once  loved. 
Often  in  riding  through  the  stillness  of  a  deep  forest 
— and  the  primeval  forest  is  to  him  the  peculiar  abode 
of  the  Almighty — his  noble  voice  rings  out  fervently 
and  even  pathetically  with  that  stanza : 

"  The  dearest  idol  I  have  known, 

Whate'er  that  idol  be, 
Help  me  to  tear  it  from  thy  throne 
And  worship  only  Thee  1" 


THE    CONFERENCE   AT  HICKORY  RIDGE.     187 

No  man  can  enjoy  a  joke  with  more  zest  than  he, 
and  none  can  tell  a  story  more  effectively  in  a  genera- 
tion of  preachers  who  are  all  good  story-tellers.  He 
loves  his  work ;  its  dangers  and  difficulties  satisfy  the 
ambition  of  his  boyhood ;  and  he  has  had  no  misgivings, 
except  when  once  or  twice  he  has  revisited  his  parents  in 
the  Hissawachee  Bottom.  Then  the  longing  to  see 
Patty  has  seized  him  and  he  has  been  fain  to  hurry  away, 
praying  to  be  delivered  from  every  snare  of  the  enemy. 

He  is  not  the  only  man  in  a  straight-breasted  coat 
who  is  approaching  the  country  meeting-house.  It  is 
conference-time,  and  the  greetings  are  hearty  and  fa- 
miliar. Everybody  is  glad  to  see  everybody,  and, 
after  a  year  of  separation,  nobody  can  afford  to  stand 
on  ceremony  with  anybody  else.  Morton  has  hardly 
alighted  before  half  a  dozen  preachers  have  rushed  up 
to  him  and  taken  him  by  the  hand.  A  tall  brother, 
with  a  grotesque  twitch  in  his  face,  cries  out : 

"  How  do  you  do,  Brother  Goodwin  ?  Glad  to  see 
the  alligators  haven't  finished  you!" 

To  which  Morton  returns  a  laughing  reply;  but 
suddenly  he  sees,  standing  back  of  the  rest  and  wait- 
ing his  turn,  a  young  man  with  a  solemn,  sallow  face, 
pinched  by  sickness  and  exposure,  and  bordered  by 
the  straight  black  hair  that  falls  on  each  side  of  it. 
He  wears  over  his  clothes  a  blanket  with  arm-holes 
cut  through,  and  seems  to  be  perpetually  awaiting  an 
ague-chill.  Seeing  him,  Morton  pushes  the  rest  aside,, 
and  catches  the  wan  hand  in  both  of  his  own  with  a 
cry :  "  Kike,  God  bless  you !  How  are  you,  dear  old 
fellow?  You  look  sick," 


188  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

Kike  smiled  faintly,  and  Morton  threw  his  arm  over 
his  shoulder  and  looked  in  his  face.  "  I  am  sick, 
Mort.  Cast  down,  but  not  destroyed,  you  know.  I 
hope  I  am  ready  to  be  offered  up." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it.  You've  got  to  get  better.  Of- 
fered up  ?  Why,  you  aren't  fit  to  offer  to  an  alligator. 
Where  are  you  staying?" 

"Out  there."  Kike  pointed  to  the  tents  of  a 
•camp-meeting  barely  visible  through  the  trees.  The 
people  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  Hickory  Ridge 
Church,  being  unable  to  entertain  the  Conference  in 
their  homes,  had  resorted  to  the  device  of  getting  up 
a  camp -meeting.  It  was  easier  to  take  care  of  the 
preachers  out  of  doors  than  in.  Morton  shook  his 
head  as  he  walked  with  Kike  to  the  thin  canvas  tent 
•under  which  he  had  been  assigned  to  sleep.  The 
white  spot  on  the  end  of  Kike's  nose  and  the  blue 
lines  under  his  finger-nails  told  plainly  of  the  on-com- 
ing chill,  and  Morton  hurried  away  to  find  some  bet- 
ter shelter  for  him  than  under  this  thin  sheet.  But 
this  was  hard  to  do.  The  few  brethren  in  the  neigh- 
borhood had  already  filled  their  cabins  full  of  guests, 
mostly  in  infirm  health,  and  Kike,  being  one  of  the 
younger  men,  renowned  only  for  his  piety  and  his  re- 
vivals, had  not  been  thought  of  for  a  place  elsewhere 
than  on  the  camp-ground.  Finding  it  impossible  to 
get  a  more  comfortable  resting  place  for  his  friend, 
Morton  turned  to  seek  for  a  physician.  The  only  doc- 
tor in  the  neighborhood  was  a  Presbyterian  minister,  re- 
tired from  the  ministry  on  account  of  his  impaired  health. 
To  him  Morton  went  to  ask  for  medicine  for  Kike. 


THE,   CONFERENCE  AT  HICKORY  RIDGE,     189 

**Dr.  Morgan,  there  is  a  preacher  sick  down  at 
the  camp-ground,"  said  Morton,  "and — " 

"And  you  want  me  to  see  him,"  said  the  doctor, 
in  an  alert,  anticipative  fashion,  seizing  his  "  pill-bags  n 
and  donning  his  hat. 

When  the  two  rode  up  to  the  tent  in  which  Kike 
was  lodged  they  found  a  prayer-meeting  of  a  very 
exciting  kind  going  on  in  the  tent  adjoining.  There 
were  cries  and  groans  and  amens  and  hallelujahs  com- 
mingled in  a  way  quite  intelligible  to  the  experienced 
ear  of  Morton,  but  quite  unendurable  to  the  orderly 
doctor. 

"A  bad  place  for  a  sick  man,  sir,"  he  said  to 
Morton,  with  great  positiveness. 

"I  know  it  is,  doctor,"  said  Morton;  "and  I've 
done  my  best  to  get  him  out  of  it,  but  I  cannot.  See 
how  thin  this  tent-cover  is." 

"And  the  malaria  of  these  woods  is  awful.  Camp- 
meetings,  sir,  are  always  bad.  And  this  fuss  is 
enough  to  drive  a  patient  crazy." 

Morton  thought  the  doctor  prejudiced,  but  he  said 
nothing.  They  had  now  reached  the  corner  of  the 
tent  where  Kike  lay  on  a  straw  pallet,  holding  his 
hands  to  his  head.  The  noise  from  the  prayer-meet- 
ing was  more  than  his  weary  brain  would  bear. 

"  Can  you  sit  on  my  horse  ?"  said  the  doctor, 
promptly  proceeding  to  lift  Kike  without  even  explain- 
ing to  him  who  he  was,  or  where  he  proposed  to  take 
him. 

Morton  helped  to  place  Kike  in  the  saddle,  but 
the  poor  fellow  was  shaking  so  that  he  could  not  sit 


-90  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

there.  Morton  then  brought  out  Dolly — she  was  all 
his  own  now — and  took  the  slight  form  of  Kike  in 
his  arms,  he  riding  on  the  croup,  and  the  sick  man 
in  the  saddle. 

"Where  shall  I  ride  to,  doctor?" 

*  To  my  house,"  said  the  doctor,  mounting  his  own 
horse  and  spurring  off  to  have  a  bed  made  ready  for 
Kike. 

As  Morton  rode  up  to  the  doctor's  gate,  the  shaking 
Kike  roused  a  little  and  said,  "  She's  the  same  fine  old 
Dolly,  Mort." 

"  A  little  more  sober.  The  long  rides  in  the  cane- 
brakes,  and  the  responsibility  of  the  Methodist  itiner- 
ancy, have  given  her  the  gravity  that  belongs  to  the 
ministry." 

Such  a  bed  as  Kike  found  in  Dr.  Morgan's  house  \ 
After  the  rude  bear-skins  upon  which  he  had  languished 
in  the  backwoods  cabins,  after  the  musty  feather-beds 
in  freezing  lofts,  and  the  pallets  of  leaves  upon  which 
he  had  shivered  and  scorched  and  fought  fleas  and 
musquitoes,  this  clean  white  bed  was  like  a  foretaste 
of  heaven.  But  Kike  was  almost  too  sick  to  be 
grateful.  The  poor  frame  had  been  kept  up  by  will  so 
long,  that  now  that  he  was  in  a  good  bed  and  had 
Morton  he  felt  that  he  could  afford  to  be  sick.  What 
had  been  ague  settled  into  that  wearisome  disease 
called  bilious  fever.  Morton  staid  by  him  nearly  all 
of  the  time,  looking  into  the  conference  now  and  then 
to  see  the  venerable  Asbury  in  the  chair,  listening  to 
a  grand  speech  from  McKendree,  attending  on  the 
third  day  of  the  session,  when,  with  the  others  who  had 


THE   CONFERENCE  AT  HICKORY  RIDGE,     191 

been  preaching  two  years  on  probation,  he  was  called 
forward  to  answer  the  "  Questions  "  always  propounded 
to  "  Candidates  for  admission  to  the  conference."  Kike 
only  was  missing  from  the  list  of  those  who  were  tc 
have  heard  the  bishop's  exhortations,  full  of  martial 
fire,  and  to  have  answered  his  questions  in  regard  to 
their  spiritual  state.  For  above  all_gifts_qf  speech  or 
depths  of  learning,  or  acuteness  of  reasoning,  the  early 
Methodists  esteemed  devout  affections ;  and  no  man  was  > 
of  account  for  the  ministry  who  was  not  "  groaning  to 
be  made  perfect  in  this  life."  The  question  stands 
in  the  discipline  yet,  but  very  many  young  men  who 
assent  to  it  groan  after  nothing  so  much  as  a  city 
church  w^ith  full  galleries. 

The  strange  mystery  in  which  appointments  were 
involved  could  not  but  pique  curiosity.  Morton  having 
had  one  year  of  mountains,  and  one  year  of  cane- 
brakes,  had  come  to  wish  for  one  year  of  a  little  more 
comfort,  and  a  little  better  support.  There  is  a 
romance  about  going  threadbare  and  tattered  in  a 
good  cause,  but  even  the  romance  gets  threadbare 
and  tattered  if  it  last  too  long,  and  one  wishes  for  a 
little  sober  reality  of  warm  clothes  to  relieve  a  romance, 
charming  enough  in  itself,  but  dull  when  it  grows 
monotonous. 

The  awful  hour  of  appointments  came  on  at  last. 
The  brave-hearted  men  sat  down  before  the  bishop, 
and  before  God,  not  knowing  what  was  to  be  their 
fate.  Morton  could  not  guess  where  he  was  going.  A 
miasmatic  cane-brake,  or  a  deadly  cypress  swamp,  might 
be  his  doom,  or  he  might — but  no,  he  would  not  hope 


192  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER, 

that  his  lot  might  fall  in  Ohio.  He  was  a  young 
and  a  young  man  must  take  his  chances.  Morton 
found  himself  more  anxious  about  Kike  than  about 
himself.  Where  would  the  bishop  send  the  invalid  ? 
With  Kike  it  might  be  a  matter  of  life  and  death,  and 
Kike  would  not  hear  to  being  left  without  work.  He 
meant,  he  said,  to  cease  at  once  to  work  and  live. 

The  brethren,  still  in  sublime  ignorance  of  their 
destiny,  sang  fervently  that  fiery  hymn  of  Charles 
Wesley's: 

"Jesus,  the  name  high  over  all. 

In  hell  or  eirth  or  sky, 
Angels  and  men  before  him  fall, 
And  devils  fear  and  fly. 

•*  O  that  the  world  might  taste  and  set. 

The  riches  of  his  grace, 
The  arms  of  love  that  compass  me 
Would  all  mankind  embrace." 

And  when  they  reached  the  last  stanzas  there  was  the 
ring  of  soldiers  ready  for  battle  in  their  martial  voices. 
That  some  of  them  would  die  from  exposure,  malaria, 
or  accident  during  the  next  year  was  probable.  Tears 
came  to  their  eyes,  and  they  involuntarily  began  to 
grasp  the  hands  of  those  who  stood  next  them  as  they 
approached  the  climax  of  the  hymn,  which  the  bishop 
read  impressively,  two  lines  at  a  time,  for  them  to 
•ing: 

"His  only  righteousness  I  show, 

His  saving  truth  proclaim, 
*Tis  all  my  business  here  below 
To  cry.  'Behold  the  LambJ' 


THE   CONFERENCE  AT  HICKORY  RIDGZ.     193 

"  Happy  if  with  my  latest  breath 

I  may  but  gasp  his  name, 
Preach  him  to  all  and  cry  in  death, 
'  Behold,  behold  the  Lamb  !' " 

Then,  with  suffused  eyes,  they  resumed  their  seats,  and 
the  venerable  Asbury,  with  calmness  and  with  a  voice 
faltering  with  age,  made  them  a  brief  address;  tender 
and  sympathetic  at  first,  earnest  as  he  proceeded,  and 
full  of  ardor  and  courage  at  the  close. 

"When  the  British  Admiralty,"  he  said,  "wanted 
some  man  to  take  Quebec,  they  began  with  the  oldest 
General  first,  asking  him :  '  General,  will  you  go  and 
take  Quebec  ?  '  To  which  he  made  reply,  '  It  is  a  very 
difficult  enterprise.'  'You  may  stand  aside,'  they  said. 
One  after  another  the  Generals  answered  that  they 
would,  in  some  more  or  less  indefinite  manner,  until 
the  youngest  man  on  the  list  was  reached.  '  General 
Wolfe,'  they  said,  '  will  you  go  and  take  Quebec  ? ' 
'I'll  do  it  or  die,'  he  replied."  Here  the  bishop 
paused,  looked  round  about  upon  them,  and  added, 
with  a  voice  full  of  emotion,  "  He  went,  and  did  both. 
We  send  you  first  to  take  the  country  allotted  to  you. 
We  want  only  men  who  are  determined  to  do  it  or 
die  !  Some  of  you,  dear  brethren,  will  do  both.  If 
you  fall,  let  us  hear  that  you  fell  like  Methodist 
preachers  at  your  post,  face  to  the  foe,  and  the  shout 
of  victory  on  your  lips." 

The  effect  of  this  speech  was  beyond  description. 
There  were  sobs,  and  cries  of  "  Amen,"  "  God  grant 
it,"  "  Halleluiah !"  from  every  part  of  the  old  log 
church.  Every  man  was  ready  for  the  hardest  place, 


134  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

if  he  rmrst.  Gravely,  as  one  who  trembles  at  his  re-» 
sponsibility,  the  bishop  brought  out  his  list.  No  man 
looked  any  more  upon  his  fellow.  Every  one  kept 
his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  paper  from  which  the  bishop 
read  the  appointments,  until  his  own  name  was  reacned. 
Some  showed  pleasure  when  their  names  were  cafled, 
some  could  not  conceal  a  look  of  pain.  When  the 
reading  had  proceeded  half  way  down  the  list,  Morton 
heard,  with  a  little  start,  the  words  slowly  enounced 
as  the  bishop's  eyes  fell  on  him: 

"  Jenkinsville  Circuit — Morton  Goodwin." 

Well,  at  least  Jenkinsville  was  in  Ohio.  But  it 
was  in  the  wickedest  part  of  Ohio.  Morton  half  sus- 
pected that  he  was  indebted  to  his  muscle,  his  cour- 
age, and  his  quick  wit  for  the  appointment.  The 
rowdies  of  Jenkinsville  Circuit  were  worse  than  the 
alligators  of  Mississippi.  But  he  was  young,  hopeful 
and  brave,  and  rather  relished  a  difficult  field  than 
otherwise.  He  listened  now  for  Kike's  name.  It 
came  at  the  bottom  of  the  list : 

"  Pottawottomie  Creek  —  W.  T.  Smith,  Hezekiah 
Lumsden." 

The  bishop  had  not  dared  to  entrust  a  circuit  to 
a  man  so  sick  as  Kike  was.  He  had,  therefore,  sent 
him  as  "  second  man  "  or  "  junior  preacher  "  on  a  cir- 
cuit in  the  wilderness  of  Michigan. 

The  last  appointment  having  been  announced,  a 
simple  benediction  closed  the  services,  and  the  brethren 
who  had  foregone  houses  and  homes  and  fathers  and 
mothers  and  wives  and  children  for  tne  kingdom  of 
heaven's  sake  saddled  their  horses,  called,  one  by  one,  at 


THE   CONFERENCE  AT  HICKORY  RIDGE.      1£5 

Dr.  Morgan's  to  say  a  brotherly  "  God  bless  you  !"  to 
the  sick  Kike,  and  rode  away,  each  in  his  own  direc- 
tion, and  all  witl^  a  'self-immolation  to  the  cause 
rarely  seen  sinc£  the  Middle-Age. 

They  rode  away,  all  but '  Kike,  languishing  yet  with 
fever,  and  Morton,  Batching  by  his  side. 


CHAPTER    XXL 

CONVALESCENCE. 

AT  last  Kike  is  getting  better,  and  Morton  can  be 
spared.  There  is  no  longer  any  reason  why  the 
rowdies  on  Jenkinsvilie  Circuit  should  pine  for  the 
muscular  young  preacher  whom  they  have  vowed  to 
"  lick  as  soon  as  they  lay  eyes  on  to  him."  Dolly's 
legs  are  aching  for  a  gallop.  Morton  and  Dr.  Morgan 
have  exhausted  their  several  systems  of  theology  in 
discussion.  So,  at  last,  the  impatient  Morton  mounts 
the  impatient  Dolly,  and  gallops  away  to  preach  to  the 
impatient  brethren  and  face  the  impatient  ruffians  of 
Jenkinsvilie  Circuit.  Kike  is  left  yet  in  his  quiet  har- 
bor to  recover.  The  doctor  has  taken  a  strange  fancy 
to  the  zealous  young  prophet,  and  looks  forward  with 
sadness  to  the  time  when  he  will  leave. 

Ah,  happiest  experience  of  life,  when  the  flood  tide 
sets  back  through  the  veins !  You  have  no  longer 
any  pain;  you  are  not  well  enough  to  feel  any  re- 
sponsibility; you  cannot  work;  there  is  no  obligation 
resting  on  you  but  one — that  is  rest.  Such  perfect 
passivity  Kike  had  never  known  before.  He  could 
walk  but  little.  He  sat  the  livelong  day  by  the  open 
window,  as  listless  as  the  grass  that  waved  before  the 
wind.  All  the  sense  of  dire  responsibility,  all  those 


CON  VALESCENCE.  197 

feeiings  of  the  awfulness  of  life,  and  the  fearfulness  of 
his  work,  and  the  dreadfulness  of  his  accountability, 
were  in  abeyance.  To  eat,  to  drink,  to  sleep,  to 
wake  and  breathe,  to  suffer  as  a  passive  instrument 
the  play  of  whatever  feeling  might  chance  to  come, 
was  Kike's  life. 

In  this  state  the  severity  of  his  character  was 
laid  aside.  He  listened  to  the  quick  and  eager  con- 
versation of  Dr.  Morgan  with  a  gentle  pleasure;  he 
answered  the  motherly  questions  of  Mrs.  Morgan  with 
quiet  gratitude ;  he  admired  the  goodness  of  Miss  Jane 
Morgan,  their  eldest  and  most  exemplary  daughter,  as 
a  far  off  spectator.  There  were  but  two  things  that 
had  a  real  interest  for  him.  He  felt  a  keen  delight 
in  watching  the  wayward  flight  of  the  barn  swallows 
as  they  went  chattering  out  from  under  the  eaves — 
their  airy  vagabondage  was  so  restful.  And  he  liked 
to  watch  the  quick,  careless  tread  of  Henrietta  Morgan, 
the  youngest  of  the  doctor's  daughters,  who  went  on 
forever  talking  and  laughing  with  as  little  reck  as  the 
swallows  themselves.  Though  she  was  eighteen,  there 
was  in  her  full  child-like  cheeks,  in  her  contagious 
laugh — a  laugh  most  unprovoked,  coming  of  itself — in 
her  playful  way  of  performing  even  her  duties,  a 
something  that  so  contrasted  with  and  relieved  the 
habitual  austerity  of  Kike's  temper,  and  that  so  fell  in 
with  his  present  lassitude  and  happy  carelessness,  that 
he  allowed  his  head,  resting  weakly  upon  a  pillow,  to 
turn  from  side  to  side,  that  his  eyes  might  follow  her. 
So  diverting  were  her  merry  replies,  that  he  soon  came 
to  talk  with  her  for  the  sake  of  hearing  them.  He 


198  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

was  not  forgetful  of  the  solemn  injunctions  Mr. 
Wesley  had  left  for  the  prudent  behavior  of  young 
ministers  in  the  presence  of  women.  With  Miss  Jane 
he  was  very  careful  lest  he  should  in  any  way  com- 
promise himself,  or  awaken  her  affections.  Jane  was 
the  kind  of  a  girl  he  would  want  to  marry,  if  he  were 
to  marry.  But  Nettie  was  a  child — a  cheerful  butter- 
fly— as  refreshing  to  his  weary  mind  as  a  drink  of  cold 
water  to  a  fever-patient.  When  she  was  out  of  the 
room,  Kike  was  impatient ;  when  she  returned,  he  was 
glad.  When  she  sewed,  he  drew  the  large  chair  in 
which  he  rested  in  front  of  her,  and  talked  in  his 
grave  fashion,  while  she,  in  turn,  amused  him  with  a 
hundred  fancies.  She  seemed  to  shine  all  about  him 
like  sunlight.  Poor  Kike  could  not  refuse  to  enjoy  a 
fellowship  so  delightful,  and  Nettie  Morgan's  reverence 
for  young  Lumsden's  saintliness,  and  pity  for  his  sick- 
ness, grew  apace  into  a  love  for  him. 

Long  before  Kike  discovered  or  Nettie  suspected 
this,  the  doctor  had  penetrated  it.  Kike's  whole, 
hearted  devotion  to  his  work  had  charmed  the 
ex-minister,  who  moved  about  in  his  alert  fashion, 
talking  with  eager  rapidity,  anticipating  Kike's  grave 
sentences  before  he  was  half  through  —  seeing  and 
hearing  everything  while  he  seemed  to  note  nothing. 
He  was  not  averse  to  this  attachment  between  the 
two.  Provided  always,  that  Kike  should  give  up 
traveling.  It  was  all  but  impossible,  indeed,  for  a 
man  to  be  a  Methodist  preacher  in  that  day  and 
"lead  about  a  wife."  A  very  few  managed  to  com. 
bine  the  ministry  with  marriage,  but  in  most  cases 


CON  rALESCENCE. 


199 


marriage  rendered  "  location  "  or  secularization  imper- 
ative. 

Kike    sat    one    day  talking   in    the    half-listless  way 
that  is  characteristic  of  convalescence,  watching  Nettie 


CONVALESCENCE. 

Morgan  as  she  sewed  and  laughed,  when  Dr.  Morgan 
came  in,  put  his  pill-bags  upon  the  high  bureau, 
glanced  quickly  at  the  two,  and  said  : 

"  Nettie,  I  think  you'd  better  help  your  mother. 
The  double-and-twisting  is  hard  work." 

Nettie  laid  her  sewing  down.  Kike  watched  her 
until  she  had  disappeared  through  the  door ;  then  he 
listened  until  the  more  vigorous  spinning  indicated  to 
him  that  younger  hands  had  taken  the  wheel.  His 


200  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

heart  sank  a  little — it  might  be  hours  before  Nettie 
could  return. 

Dr.  Morgan  busied  himself,  or  pretended  to  busy 
himself,  with  his  medicines,  but  he  was  observing  how 
the  young  preacher's  eyes  followed  his  daughter,  how 
his  countenance  relapsed  into  its  habitual  melancholy 
when  she  was  gone.  He  thought  he  could  not  be 
mistaken  in  his  diagnosis. 

"  Mr.  Lumsden,"  he  said,  kindly,  "  I  don't  know 
what  we  shall  do  when  you  get  well.  I  can't  bear  to 
have  you  go  away." 

'*  You  have  been  too  good,  doctor.  I  am  afraid 
you  have  spoiled  me."  The  thought  of  going  to 
Pottawottomie  Creek  was  growing  more  and  more 
painful  to  Kike.  He  had  put  all  thoughts  of  the  sort 
out  of  his  mind,  because  the  doctor  wished  him  to 
keep  his  mind  quiet.  Now,  for  some  reason,  Doctor 
Morgan  seemed  to  force  the  disagreeable  future  upon 
him.  Why  was  it  unpleasant  r  Why  had  he  lost  his 
relish  for  his  work?  Had  he  indeed  backslidden? 

While  the  doctor  fumbled  over  his  bottles,  and  for 
the  fourth  time  held  a  large  phial,  marked  Sulph.  dt 
Quin.,  up  to  the  light,  as  though  he  were  counting 
the  grains,  the  young  preacher  was  instituting  an 
inquiry  into  his  own  religious  state.  Why  did  he 
shrink  from  Pottawottomie  Creek  circuit?  He  had 
braved  much  harder  toil  and  greater  danger.  On 
Pottawottomie  Creek  he  would  have  a  senior  colleague 
upon  whom  all  administrative  responsibilities  would 
devolve,  and  the  year  promised  to  be  an  easy  one  in 
comparison  with  the  preceding.  On  inquiring  of  him- 


CONVALESCENCE.  201 

self  he  found  that  there  was  no  circuit  that  would  be 
attractive  to  him  in  his  present  state  of  mind,  except 
the  one  that  lay  all  around  Di.  Morgan's  house.  At 
first  Kike  Lumsden,  playing  hide-and-seek  with  his 
own  motives,  as  other  men  do  under  like  circumstan- 
ces, gave  himself  much  credit  for  his  grateful  attach- 
ment to  the  family.  Surely  gratitude  is  a  generous 
quality,  and  had  not  Dr.  Morgan,  though  of  another 
denomination,  taken  him  under  his  roof  and  given 
him  professional  attention  free  of  charge?  And  Mrs. 
Morgan  and  Jane  and  Nettie,  had  they  not  cared  for 
him  as  though  he  were  a  brother?  What  could  be 
more  commendable  than  that  he  should  find  himself 
loth  to  leave  people  who  were  so  good  ? 

But  Kike  had  not  been  in  the  habit  of  cheating 
himself.  He  had  always  dealt  hardly  with  Kike 
Lumsden.  He  could  not  rest  now  in  this  subterfuge ; 
he  would  not  give  himself  credit  that  he  did  not 
deserve.  So  while  the  doctor  walked  to  the  window 
and  senselessly  examined  the  contents  of  one  of  his 
bottles  marked  "  Hydrarg."  Kike  took  another  and 
closer  look  at  his  own  mind  and  saw  that  the  one 
person  whose  loss  would  be  painful  to  him  was  not 
Dr.  Morgan,  nor  his  excellent  wife,  nor  the  admirable 
Jane,  but  the  volatile  Nettie,  the  cadence  of  whose 
spinning  wheel  he  was  even  then  hearkening  to.  The 
consciousness  that  he  was  in  love  came  to  him  sud- 
denly— a  consciousness  not  without  pleasure,  but  with 
a  plentiful  admixture  of  pain. 

Doctor  Morgan's  eyes,  glancing  with  characteristic 
alertness,  caught  the  expression  of  a  new  self-knowledge 


202  THE    CIRCUIT   RIDER. 

and  of  an  anxious  pain  upon  the  forehead  of  Lums- 
den.  Then  the  physician  seemed  all  at  once  satisfied 
with  his  medicines.  The  bottle  labelled  "  Hydrarg" 
and  the  "  Sulph.  de  Quin"  were  now  replaced  in  the 
saddle  bags. 

At  this  moment  Nettie  herself  came  into  the  room 
on  some  errand.  Kike  had  heard  her  wheel  stop — • 
had  looked  toward  the  door — had  caught  her  glance 
,as  she  came  in,  and  had,  in  that  moment,  become 
aware  that  he  was  not  the  only  person  in  love.  Was 
it,  then,  that  the  doctor  wished  to  prevent  the  attach- 
ment going  further  that  he  had  delicately  reminded 
his  guest  of  the  approach  of  the  time  when  he  must 
leave  ?  These  thoughts  aroused  Kike  from  the  lassi- 
tude of  his  slow  convalescence.  Nettie  went  back  to 
her  wheel,  and  set  it  humming  louder  than  ever,  but 
Kike  heard  now  in  its  tones  some  note  of  anxiety 
that  disturbed  him.  The  doctor  came  and  sat  down 
by  him  and  felt  his  pulse,  ostensibly  to  see  if  he  had 
fever,  really  to  add  yet  another  link  to  the  chain  of 
evidence  that  his  surmise  was  correct. 

"Mr.  Lumsden,"  said  he,  "a  constitution  so  much 
impaired  as  yours  cannot  recuperate  in  a  few  days." 

"I  know  that,  sir,"  said  Kike,  "and  I  am  anxious 
to  get  to  my  mother's  for  a  rest  there,  that  I  may  not 
burden  you  any  longer,  and " 

"You  misunderstand  me,  my  dear  fellow,  if  you 
think  I  want  to  be  rid  of  you.  I  wish  you  would 
stay  with  me  always;  I  do  indeed." 

For  a  moment  Kike  looked  out  of  the  window.  To 
stay  with  the  doctor  always  would,  it  seemed  to  him, 


CONVALESCENCE,  203 

be  a  heaven  upon  earth.  But  had  he  not  renounced 
all  thought  of  a  heaven  on  earth?  Had  he  not  said 
plainly  that  here  he  had  no  abiding  place?  Having 
put  his  hand  to  the  plow,  should  he  look  back? 

"But  I  ought  not  to  give  up  my  work." 

It  was  not  in  this  tone  that  Kike  would  have 
spurned  such  a  temptation  awhile  before. 

"Mr.  Lumsden,"  said  the  doctor,  "you  see  that  I 
am  useful  here.  I  cannot  preach  a  great  deal,  but  I 
think  that  I  have  never  done  so  much  good  as  since 
I  began  to  practice  medicine.  I  need  somebody  to 
help  me.  I  cannot  take  care  of  the  farm  and  my 
practice  too.  You  could  look  after  the  farm,  and 
preach  every  Sunday  in  the  country  twenty  miles 
round.  You  might  even  study  medicine  after  awhile, 
and  take  the  practice  as  I  grow  older.  You  will  die, 
if  you  go  on  with  your  circuit-riding.  Come  and  live 

with  me,  and  be  my assistant."  The  doctor  had 

almost  said  "my  son."  It  was  in  his  mind,  and  Kike 
divined  it.  /• 

"  Think  about  it,"  said  Dr.  Morgan,  as  he  rose  to 
go,  "  and  remember  that  nobody  is  obliged  to  kill 
himself." 

And  all  day  long  Kike  thought  and  prayed,  and 
tried  to  see  the  right ;  and  all  day  long  Nettie  found 
occasion  to  come  in  on  little  errands,  and  as  often  as 
she  came  in  did  it  seem  clear  to  Kike  that  he  would 
be  justified  in  accepting  Dr.  Morgan's  offer  ;  and  as 
often  as  she  went  out  did  he  tremble  lest  he  were 
about  to  betray  the  trust  committed  to  him. 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

THE    DECISION. 

THE  austerity  of  Kike's  conscience  had  slumbered 
during  his  convalescence.  It  was  wide  awake 
now.  He  sat  that  evening  in  his  room  trying  to  see 
the  right  way.  According  to  old  Methodist  custom 
he  looked  for  some  inward  movement  of  the  spirit — • 
some  "impression" — that  should  guide  him. 

During  the  great  religious  excitement  of  the  early 
part  of  this  century,  Western  pietists  referred  every- 
thing to  God  in  prayer,  and  the  belief  in  immmediate 
divine  direction  was  often  carried  to  a  ludicrous 
extent.  It  is  related  that  one  man  retired  to  the  hills 
and  prayed  a  week  that  he  might  know  how  he  should 
be  baptized,  and  that  at  last  he  came  rushing  out  of  the 
woods,  shouting  "  Hallelujah  !  Immersion  1  "  Various 
devices  were  invented  for  obtaining  divine  direction — • 
devices  not  unworthy  the  ancient  augurs.  Lorenzo 
Dow  used  to  suffer  his  horse  to  take  his  own  course 
at  each  divergence  of  the  road.  It  seems  to  have 
been  a  favorite  delusion  of  pietism,  in  all  ages,  that 
God  could  direct  an  inanimate  object,  guide  a  dumb 
brute,  or  impress  a  blind  impulse  upon  the  human 
mind,  but  could  not  enlighten  or  guide  the  judgment 
itself.  The  opening  of  a  Bible  at  random  for  a  direct- 
ing text  became  so  common  during  the  Wesleyan 


THE    DECISION.  205 

movement  in  England,  that  Dr.  Adam  Clarke  thought 
it  necessary  to  utter  a  stout  Irish  philippic  against 
what  he  called  "  Bible  sortilege." 

These  devout  divinings,  these  vanes  set  to  catch 
the  direction  of  heavenly  breezes,  could  not  but  im- 
press so  earnest  a  nature  as  Kike's.  Now  in  his 
distress  he  prayed  with  eagerness  and  opened  his 
Bible  at  random  to  find  his  eye  lighting,  not  on  any 
intelligible  or  remotely  applicable  passage,  but  upon  a 
bead-roll  of  unpronounceable  names  in  one  of  the 
early  chapters  of  the  Book  of  Chronicles.  This 
disappointment  he  accepted  as  a  trial  of  his  faith. 
Faith  like  Kike's  is  not  to  be  dashed  by  disappoint- 
ment. He  prayed  again  for  direction,  and  opened 
at  last  at  the  text :  "  Simon,  son  of  Jonas,  lovest 
thou  me  more  than  these  ?"  The  marked  trait  in 
Kike's  piety  was  an  enthusiastic  personal  loyalty  to 
the  Lord  Jesus  Christ.  This  question  seemed  directed 
to  him,  as  it  had  been  to  Peter,  in  reproach.  He 
would  hesitate  no  longer.  Love,  and  life  itself,  should 
be  sacrificed  for  the  Christ  who  died  for  him.  Then  he 
prayed  once  more,  and  there  came  to  his  mind  the 
memory  of  that  saying  about  leaving  houses  and  homes 
and  lands  and  wives,  for  Christ's  sake.  It  came  to  him, 
doubtless,  by  a  perfectly  natural  law  of  mental  associ- 
ation. But  what  did  Kike  know  of  the  association  of 
ideas,  or  of  any  other  law  of  mental  action  ?  Wesley's 
sermons  and  Benson's  Life  of  Fletcher  constituted  his 
library.  To  him  it  seemed  certain  that  this  text  of 
scripture  was  "  suggested."  It  was  a  call  from  Christ 
to  give  up  all  for  him.  And  in  the  spirit  of  the 


206  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER 

sublimest    self-sacrifice,   he    said :   "  Lord,  I   will  keeji 
back  nothing !  " 

But  emotions  and  resolutions  that  are  at  high  tids 
in  the  evening  often  ebb  before  morning.  Kike 
thought  himself  strong  enough  to  begin  again  to  rise 
at  four  o'clock,  as  Wesley  had  ordained  in  those  "  rules 
for  a  preacher's  conduct  "  which  every  Methodist 
preacher  even  yet  promises  to  keep.  Following  the 
same  rules,  he  proceeded  to  set  apart  the  first  hour 
for  prayer  and  meditation.  The  night  before  all  had 
seemed  clear;  but  now  that  morning  had  come  and 
he  must  soon  proceed  to  execute  his  stern  resolve,  he 
found  himself  full  of  doubt  and  irresolution.  Such 
vacillation  was  not  characteristic  of  Kike,  but  it  marked 
the  depth  of  his  feeling  for  Nettie.  Doubtless,  too, 
the  enervation  of  convalescence  had  to  do  with  it. 
Certainly  in  that  raw  and  foggy  dawn  the  forsaking 
of  the  paradise  of  rest  and  love  in  which  he  had 
lingered  seemed  to  require  more  courage  than  he 
could  muster.  After  all,  why  should  he  leave  ?  Might 
he  not  be  mistaken  in  regard  to  his  duty?  Was  he 
obliged  to  sacrifice  his  life? 

He  conducted  his  devotions  in  a  state  of  great 
mental  distraction.  Seeing  a  copy  of  Baxter's  Reformed 
Pastor  which  belonged  to  Dr.  Morgan  lying  on  the 
window-seat,  he  took  it  up,  hoping  to  get  some  light 
from  its  stimulating  pages.  He  remembered  that 
Wesley  spoke  well  of  Baxter ;  but  he  could  not  fix  his 
mind  upon  the  book.  He  kept  listlessly  turning  the 
leaves  until  his  eye  lighted  upon  a  sentence  in  Latin. 
Kike  knew  not  »  *ingle  word  of  Latin,  and  for  that 


THE    DECISION.  207 

very  reason  his  attention  was  the  more  readily  attract- 
ed by  the  sentence  in  an  unknown  tongue.  He  read 
it,  "Nee  propter  vitam,  vivendi  perdere  causas"  He 
found  written  in  the  margin  a  free  rendering :  "  Let  us 
not,  for  the  sake  of  life,  sacrifice  the  only  things  worth 
living  for."  He  knelt  down  now  and  gave  thanks  for 
what  seemed  to  him  Divine  direction.  He  had  been 
delivered  from  a  temptation  to  sacrifice  the  great  end 
of  living  for  the  sake  of  saving  his  life. 

It  cost  him  a  pang  to  bid  adieu  to  Dr.  Morgan 
and  'his  motherly  wife  and  the  excellent  Jane.  It 
cost  him  a  great  pang  to  say  good-bye  to  Nettie 
Morgan.  Her  mobile  face  could  ill  conceal  her  feeling. 
She  did  not  venture  to  come  to  the  door.  Kike 
found  her  alone  in  the  little  porch  at  the  back  of  the 
house,  trying  to  look  unconcerned.  Afraid  to  trust 
himself  he  bade  her  farewell  dryly,  taking  her  hand 
coldly  for  a  moment.  But  the  sight  of  her  pain- 
stricken  face  touched  him  to  the  quick :  he  seized  hei 
hand  again,  and,  with  eyes  full  of  tears,  said  huskily: 
"  Good-bye,  Nettie  !  God  bless  you,  and  keep  you  for- 
ever . "  and  then  turned  suddenly  away,  bidding  the 
rest  a  hasty  adieu  and  riding  off  eagerly,  almost 
afraid  to  look  back.  He  was  more  severe  than  ever 
in  the  watcn  he  kept  over  himself  after  this.  He 
could  never  again  trust  his  treacherous  heart. 

Kike  rode  to  his  old  home  in  the  Hissawachee 
Settlement,  "  The  Forks  "  had  now  come  to  be  quite 
a  village;  the  valley  was  filling  with  people  borne  on 
that  great  wave  of  migration  that  swept  over  the 
Alleghanies  in  the  first  dozen  years  of  the  century. 


208  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

The  cabin  in  which  his  mother  lived  was  very 
little  different  from  what  it  was  when  he  left  it.  The 
old  stick  chimney  showed  signs  of  decrepitude;  the 
barrel  which  served  for  chimney-pot  was  canted  a 
little  on  one  side,  giving  to  the  cabin,  as  Kike 
thought,  an  unpleasant  air,  as  of  a  man  a  little  exhila- 
rated with  whiskey,  who  has  tipped  his  hat  upon  the 
side  of  his  head  to  leer  at  you  saucily.  The  mother 
received  him  joyously,  and  wiped  her  eyes  with  her 
apron  when  she  saw  how  sick  he  had  been.  Brady 
was  at  the  widow's  cabin,  and  though  he  stood  by  the 
fire-place  when  Kike  entered,  the  two  splint-bottomed 
chairs  sat  suspiciously  close  together.  Brady  had  long 
thought  of  changing  his  state,  but  both  Brady  and  the 
widow  were  in  mortal  fear  of  Kike,  whose  severity  of 
judgment  and  sternness  of  reproof  appalled  them. 
"  If  it  wasn't  for  Koike,"  said  Brady  to  himself,  "  I'd 
propose  to  the  widdy.  But  what  would  the  lad  say 
to  sich  follies  at  my  toime  of  loife  ?  And  the  widdy's 
more  afeard  of  him  than  I  am.  Did  iver  anybody 
say  the  loikes  of  a  b'y  that  skeers  his  schoolmasther 
out  of  courtin  his  mother,  and  his  mother  out  of 
resavin  the  attintions  of  a  larnt  grammairian  loike 
mesilf?  The  misfortin'  is  that  Koike  don't  have  no 
wakenisses  himsilf.  I  wish  he  had  jist  one,  and  thin 
I  wouldn't  keer.  If  I  could  only  foind  that  he'd  iver 
looked  jist  a  little  swate  loike  at  iny  young  girl,  I 
wouldn't  moind  his  cinsure.  But,  somehow,  I  kape 
a-thinkin*  what  would  Koike  say,  loike  a  ould  coward 
that  I  am." 
•^.  Kike  had  come  home  tp  have  his  tattered  wardrobe 


THE    DECISION'.  209 

improved,  and  the  thoughtful  mother  had  already  made 
him  a  warm,  though  not  very  shapely,  suit  of  jeans. 
It  cost  Kike  a  struggle  to  leave  her  again.  She  did 
not  think  him  fit  to  go.  But  she  did  not  dare  to  say 
so.  How  should  she  venture  to  advise  one  who 
seemed  to  her  wondering  heart  to  live  in  the  very 
secrets  of  the  Almighty  ?  God  had  laid  hands  on 
him — the  child  was  hers  no  longer.  But  still  she 
looked  her  heart-breaking  apprehensions  as  he  set 
out  from  home,  leaving  her  standing  disconsolate  in 
the  doorway  wiping  her  eyes  with  her  apron. 

And  Brady,  seeing  Kike  as  he  rode  by  the  school- 
house,  ventured  to  give  him  advice — partly  by  way  of 
finding  out  whether  Kike  had  any  "  wakeniss  "  or  not. 

"  Now,  Koike,  me  son,  as  your  ould  taycher,  I 
thrust  you'll  bear  with  me  if  I  give  you  some  advoice, 
though  ye  have  got  to  be  sich  a  praycher.  Ye '11  not 
take  offinse,  me  lad  ?  " 

"  O  no ;  certainly  not,  Mr.  Brady,"  said  Kike, 
smiling  sadly. 

"  Will,  thin,  ye 're  of  a  delicate  constitooshun  as 
shure  as  ye're  born,  and  it's  me  own  opinion  as  ye 
ought  to  git  a  good  wife  to  nurse  ye,  and  thin  you 
could  git  a  home  and  maybe  do  more  good  than  ye 
do  now." 

Kike's  face  settled  into  more  than  its  wonted 
severity.  The  remembrance  of  his  recent  vacillation 
and  the  sense  of  his  present  weakness  were  fresh  in 
his  mind.  He  would  not  again  give  place  to  the 
devil. 

"  Mr.    Brady,    there's    something    more    important 


210  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

than  our  own  ease  or  happiness.  We  were  not  made 
to  seek  comfort,  but  to  give  ourselves  to  the  work  of 
Christ.  And  see!  your  head  is  already  blossoming 
for  eternity,  and  yet  you  talk  as  if  this  world  were 
all." 

Saying  this,  Kike  shook  hands  with  the  mastei 
solemnly  and  rode  away,  and  Mr.  Brady  was  more 
appalled  than  ever. 

"  The  lad  haint  got  a  wakeniss,"  he  said,  discon- 
solately. "  Not  a  wakeniss,"  he  repeated,  as  he  walked 
gloomily  into  the  school-house,  took  down  a  switch 
and  proceeded  to  punish  Pete  Sniger,  who,  as  the 
worst  boy  in  the  school,  and  a  sort  of  evil  genius, 
often  suffered  on  general  principles  when  the  master 
was  out  of  humor.  % 

Was  Kike  unhappy  when  he  made  his  way  to  the 
distant  Pottawottomie  Creek  circuit? 

Do  you  think  the  Jesuit  missionaries,  who  traversed 
the  wilds  of  America  at  the  call  of  duty  as  they  heard 
it,  were  unhappy  men  ?  The  highest  happiness  comes 
not  from  the  satisfaction  of  our  desires,  but  from  the 
denial"  of  them  for  the  sake  of  a  high  purpose.  I 
doubt  not  the  happiest  man  that  ever  sailed  through 
Levantine  seas,  or  climbed  Cappadocian  mountains,  was 
Paul  of  Tarsus.  Do  you  think  that  he  envied  the 
voluptuaries  of  Cyprus,  or  the  rich  merchants  of 
Corinth?  Can  you  believe  that  one  of  the  idlers  in 
the  Epicurean  gardens,  or  one  of  the  Stoic  loafers  in 
the  covered  sidewalks  of  Athens,  could  imagine  the 
joy  that  tided  the  soul  of  Paul  over  all  tribulations? 
For  there  is  a  sort  of  awful  delight  in  self-sacrifice^N 


THE    DECISION.  211 

and  Kike  defied  the  storms  of  a  northern  winter,  and  all 
the  difficulties  and  dangers  of  the  wilderness,  and  all 
the  hardships  of  his  lonely  lot,  with  one  saying  often 
on  his  lips :  "  O  Lord,  I  have  kept  back  nothing ! " 

I  have  heard  that  about  this  time  young  Lumsden 
was  accustomed  to  electrify  his  audiences  by  his  fer- 
vent preaching  upon  the  Christian  duty  of  Glorying 
in  Tribulation,  and  that  shrewd  old  country  women 
would  nod  their  heads  one  to  another  as  they  went 
home  afterward,  and  say:  "He's  seed  a  mighty  sight 
o'  trouble  in  his  time,  I  'low,  fer  a  young  man." 
"  Yes ;  but  he's  got  the  victory ;  and  how  powerful 
sweet  he  talks  about  it!  I  never  heerd  the  beat  in  all 
my  born  days." 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

RUSSELL     BIGELOW'S    SERMON. 

TWO  years  have  ripened  Patty  from  the  girl  to  the 
woman.  If  Kike  is  happy  in  his  self-abnegation, 
Patty  is  not  happy  in  hers.  Pride  has  no  balm  in  it. 
However  powerful  it  may  be  as  a  stimulant,  it  is  poor 
food.  And  Patty  has  little  but  pride  to  feed  upon. 
The  invalid  mother  has  now  been  dead  a  year,  and 
Patty  is  almost  without  companionship,  though  not 
without  suitors.  Land  brings  lovers — land-lovers,  if 
nothing  more — and  the  estate  of  Patty's  father  is  not 
her  only  attraction.  She  is  a  young  woman  of  a 
certain  nobility  of  figure  and  carriage ;  she  is  not 
large,  but  her  bearing  makes  her  seem  quite  com- 
manding. Even  her  father  respects  her,  and  all  the 
more  does  he  wish  to  torment  her  whenever  he  finds 
opportunity.  Patty  is  thrifty,  and  in  the  early  West 
no  attraction  outweighed  this  wifely  ordering  of  a 
household.  But  Patty  will  not  marry  any  of  the 
suitors  who  calculate  the  infirm  health  of  her  father 
and  the  probable  division  of  his  estate,  and  who 
mentally  transfer  to  their  future  homes  the  thrift  and 
orderliness  they  see  in  Captain  Lumsden's.  By  refusing 
them  all  she  has  won  the  name  of  a  proud  girl. 
There  are  times  when  out  of  sight  of  everybody 


RUSSELL    BIGELOWS    SERMON.  213 

she  weeps,  hardly  knowing  why.  And  since  her 
mother's  death  she  reads  the  prayer-book  more  than 
ever,  finding  in  the  severe  confessions  therein  framed 
for  us  miserable  sinners,  and  the  plaintive  cries  of 
the  litany,  a  voice  for  her  innermost  soul. 

Captain  Lumsden  fears  she  will  marry  and  leave 
him,  and  yet  it  angers  him  that  she  refuses  to  marry. 
His  hatred  of  Methodists  has  assumed  the  intensity 
of  a  monomania  since  he  was  defeated  for  the  legis- 
lature partly  by  Methodist  opposition.  All  his  love 
of  power  has  turned  to  bitterest  resentment,  and  every 
thought  that  there  may  be  yet  the  remotest  possibility 
of  Patty's  marrying  Morton  afflicts  him  beyond 
measure.  He  cannot  fathom  the  reason  for  her  obsti- 
nate rejection  of  all  lovers;  he  dislikes  her  growing 
seriousness  and  her  fondness  for  the  prayer-book. 
Even  the  prayer-book's  earnestness  has  something 
Methodistic  about  it.  But  Patty  has  never  yet  been 
in  a  Methodist  meeting,  and  with  this  fact  he  com- 
forts himself.  He  has  taken  p?ins  to  buy  her  jewelry 
and  "  artificials "  in  abundance,  that  he  may,  by 
dressing  her  finely,  remove  her  as  far  as  possible  from 
temptations  to  become  a  Methodist.  For  in  that  time, 
when  fine  dressing  was  not  common  and  country 
neighborhoods  were  polarized  by  the  advent  of  Method- 
ism in  its  most  aggressive  form,  every  artificial  flower 
and  every  earring  was  a  banner  of  antagonism  to  the 
new  sect;  a  well-dressed  woman  in  a  congregation 
was  almost  a  defiance  to  the  preacher.  It  seemed  to 
Lumsden,  therefore,  that  Patty  had  prophylactic  orna- 
ments enough  to  save  her  from  Methodism.  And  to  all 


214 


THE    CIRCUIT   RIDER. 


of  these  he  added  covert  threats  that  if  any  child  of  his 
should  ever  join  these  crazy  Methodist  loons,  he  would 
turn  him  out  of  doors  and  never  see  him  again.  This 
threat  was  always  indirect — a  remark  dropped  inci- 
dentally ;  the  pronoun  which  represented  the  unknown 
quantity  of  a  Methodist  Lumsden  was  always  mascu- 
line, but  Patty  did  not  fail  to  comprehend. 

One  day  there  came  to  Captain  Lumsden 's  door 
that  out  -  cast  of 
New  England  —  a 
tin-peddler.  West- 
ern people  had  nev- 
er heard  of  Yale 
College  or  any  other 
glory  of  Connecti- 
cut or  New  Eng- 
land. To  them  it 
was  but  a  land  that 
bred  pestilent  peri- 
patetic peddlers  of 
tin-ware  and  wood- 
en clocks.  Western 
rogues  would  cheat 
you  out  of  your 
horse  or  your  farm  THE  CONNECTICUT  PEDDLER. 
if  a  good  chance  offered,  but  this  vile  vender  of 
Yankee  tins,  who  called  a  bucket  a  "pail,"  and  said 
"noo"  for  new,  and  talked  nasally,  would  work  an 
hour  to  cheat  you  out  of  a  "fipenny  bit."  The  tin- 
peddler,  one  Munson,  thrust  his  sharpened  visage  in 
at  Lumsden's  door  and  "  made  bold"  to  /«quire  if  he 


RUSSELL    BIGELOWS    SERMON.  215 

could  git  a  night's  lodging,  which  the  Captain,  like 
other  settlers,  granted  without  charge.  Having  unload- 
ed his  stock  of  "  tins  "  and  "  put  up  "  his  horse,  the 
Connecticut  peddler  "  made  bold  "  to  ask  many  lead- 
ing questions  about  the  family  and  personal  history 
of  the  Lumsdens,  collectively  and  individually.  Hav- 
ing thus  taken  the  first  steps  toward  acquaintance  by 
this  display  of  an  aggravating  interest  in  the  welfare 
of  his  new  friends,  he  proceeded  to  give  elaborate 
and  truthful  accounts  —  with  variations  —  of  his  own 
recent  adventures,  to  the  boundless  amusement  of  the 
younger  Lumsdens,  who  laughed  more  heartily  at  the 
Connecticut  man's  words  and  pronunciation  than  at 
his  stories.  He  said,  among  other  things,  that  he  had 
ben  to  Jinkinsville  t'other  day  to  what  the  Methodis' 
called  a  "basket  meetin'."  But  when  he  had  pro- 
ceeded so  far  with  his  narrative,  he  prudently  stopped 
and  made  bold  to  zVzquire  what  the  Captain  thought 
of  these  Methodists.  The  Captain  was  not  slow  to 
express  his  opinion,  and  the  man  of  tins,  having  thus 
reassured  himself  by  taking  soundings,  proceeded  to 
tell  that  they  was  a  dreffle  craoud  of  folks  to  that 
meetin'.  And  he,  hevin'  a  sharp  eye  to  business,  hed 
went  forrard  to  the  mourner's  bench  to  be  prayed  fer. 
Didn't  do  no  pertik'ler  harm  to  hev  folks  pray  fer  ye, 
ye  know.  Well,  ye  see,  the  Methodis'  they  wanted  to 
/^courage  a  seeker,  and  so  they  all  bought  some  tins. 
Purty  nigh  tuck  the  hull  load  offen  his  hands  !  (And 
here  the  peddler  winked  one  eye  at  the  Captain  and 
then  the  other  at  Patty.)  Fer  they  was  sech  a  dreffle 
lot  of  folks  there.  Come  to  hear  a  young  preacher 


216  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

as  is  'mazin*  elo'kent — Parson  Goodwin  by  name,  anf 
he  was  a  good  one  to  preach,  sartain. 

This  startled  Patty  and  the  Captain. 

"  Goodwin  ?"  said  the  Captain ;  "  Morton  Goodwin  ?n 

"The  identikle,"  said  the  peddler. 

"Raised  only  half  a  mile  from  here,"  said  Lums* 
den,  "and  we  don't  think  much  of  him." 

"  Neither  did  I,"  said  the  peddler,  trimming  his 
sails  to  Lumsden's  breezes.  "  I  calkilate  I  could 
preach  e'en  a'most  as  well  as  he  does,  myself,  and  I 
wa'n't  brought  up  to  preachin',  nother.  But  he's  got 
a  good  v'ice  fer  singin' — sich  a  ring  to't,  ye  see,  and 
he's  got  a  smart  way  thet  comes  the  sympathies  over  the 
women  folks  and  weak-eyed  men,  and  sets  'em  cryin' 
at  a  desp'ate  rate.  Was  brought  up  here,  was  he  ? 
Du  tell !  He's  powerful  pop'lar."  Then,  catching  the 
Captain's  eye,  he  added :  "  Among  the  women,  1 
mean." 

"  He'll  marry  some  shouting  girl,  I  suppose,"  said 
the  Captain,  with  a  chuckle. 

"That's  jist  what  he's  going  to  do,*'  said  the  ped- 
dler, pleased  to  have  some  information  to  give.  Seeing 
that  the  Captain  and  his  daughter  were  interested  in 
his  communication,  the  peddler  paused  a  moment.  A 
bit  of  gossip  is  too  good  a  possession  for  one  to  part 
with  too  quickly. 

"  You  guessed  good,  that  time,"  said  the  tinware 
man.  "  I  heerd  say  as  he  was  a  goin*  to  splice  with  a 
gal  that  could  pray  like  a  angel  afire.  An'  I  heerd 
her  pipy.  She  nearly  peeled  the  shingles  off  the  skewl* 
haouse  Sich  another  <?.#citement  as  she  perjuced,  1 


RUSSELL    BIGELOW*S    SERMON.  217 

never  did  see.  An*  I  went  up  to  her  after  meetirf 
and  axed  a  interest  in  her  prayers.  Don't  do  no 
harm,  ye  know,  to  git  sich  lightnin'  on  yer  own  side  I  " 
An*  I  took  keer  to  git  a  good  look  at  her  face,  for 
preachers  ginerally  marry  purty  faces.  Preachers  is  a 
good  deal  like  other  folks,  ef  they  do  purtend  to  be 
better,  hey  ?  Well,  naow,  that  Ann  Elizer  Meacham  is 
purty,  sartain.  An*  everybody  says  he's  goin*  to  marry 
her;  an*  somebody  said  the  presidin*  elder  mout  tie 
'em  up  next  Sunday  at  Quartily  Meetin',  maybe.  Then 
they'll  divide  the  work  in  the  middle  and  go  halves. 
She'll  pray  and  he'll  preach."  At  this  the  peddler 
bioke  into  a  sinister  laugh,  sure  that  he  had  conciliated 
both  the  Captain  and  Patty  by  his  news.  He  now 
proposed  to  sell  some  tinware,  thinking  he  had  woiked 
his  audience  up  to  the  right  state  of  mind. 

Patty  did  not  know  why  she  should  feel  vexed  at 
hearing  this  bit  of  intelligence  from  Jenkinsville.  What 
was  Morton  Goodwin  to  her  ?  She  went  around  the 
house  as  usual  this  evening,  trying  to  hide  all  appear- 
ance of  feeling.  She  even  persuaded  her  father  to 
buy  half-a-dozen  tin  cups  and  some  milk-buckets — she 
smiled  at  the  peddler  for  calling  them  pails.  She  was 
not  willing  to  gratify  the  Captain  by  showing  him  how 
much  she  disliked  the  scoffing  "  Yankee."  But  when 
she  was  alone  that  evening,  even  the  prayer-book  had 
lost  its  power  to  soothe.  She  was  mortified,  vexed, 
humiliated  on  every  hand.  She  felt  hard  and  bitter, 
above  all,  toward  the  sect  that  had  first  made  a  divis- 
ion between  Morton  and  herself,  and  cordially  blamed 
the  Methodists  for  all  her  misfortunes. 


218  Tff£    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

It  happened  that  upon  the  very  next  Sunday 
Russell  Bigelow  was  to  preach.  Far  and  wide  ovei 
the  West  had  traveled  the  fame  of  this  great  preacher, 
who,  though  born  in  Vermont,  was  wholly  Western  in 
his  impassioned  manner.  "An  orator  is  to  be  judged 
not  by  his  printed  discourses,  but  by  the  memory  of 
the  effect  he  has  produced,"  says  a  French  writer ;  and 
if  we  may  judge  of  Russell  Bigelow  by  the  fame  that 
fills  Ohio  and  Indiana  even  to  this  day,  he  was  surely 
an  orator  of  the  highest  order.  He  is  known  as  the 
*  indescribable."  The  news  that  he  was  to  preach  had 
set  the  Hissawachee  Settlement  afire  with  eager  curi- 
osity to  hear  him.  Even  Patty  declared  her  intention 
of  going,  much  to  the  Captain's  regret.  The  meeting 
was  not  to  be  held  at  Wheeler's,  but  in  the  woods, 
and  she  could  go  for  this  time  without  entering  the 
house  of  her  father's  foe.  She  had  no  other  motive 
than  a  vague  hope  of  hearing  something  that  would 
divert  her;  life  had  grown  so  heavy  that  she  craved 
excitement  of  any  kind.  She  would  take  a  back  seat 
and  hear  the  famous  Methodist  for  herself.  But  Patty 
put  on  all  of  her  gold  and  costly  apparel.  She  was 
determined  that  nobody  should  suspect  her  of  any 
intention  of  "joining  the  church."  Her  mood  was  one 
of  curiosity  on  the  surface,  and  of  proud  hatred  and 
quiet  defiance  below. 

No  religious  meeting  is  ever  so  delightful  as  a 
meeting  held  in  the  forest;  no  forest  is  so  satisfying 
as  a  forest  of  beech;  the  wide-spreading  boughs- 
drooping  when  they  start  from  the  trunk,  but  well  sus- 
tained at  the  last  —  stretch  out  regularly  and  with 


RUSSELL    BIGELOW'S    SERMON.  219 

a  steady  horizontalness,  the  last  year's  leaves  form 
a  carpet  like  a  cushion,  while  the  dense  foliage  shuts 
out  the  sun.  To  this  meeting  in  the  beech  woods 
Patty  chose  to  walk,  since  it  was  less  than  a  mile 
away.*  As  she  passed  through  a  little  cove,  she  saw  a 
man  lying  flat  on  his  face  in  prayer.  It  was  the 
preacher.  Awe-stricken,  Patty  hurried  on  to  the 
meeting.  She  had  fully  intended  to  take  a  seat  in 
the  rear  of  the  congregation,  but  being  a  little  con- 
fused and  absent-minded  she  did  not  observe  at  first 
where  the  stand  had  been  erected,  and  that  she  was 
entering  the  congregation  at  the  side  nearest  to  the 
pulpit.  When  she  discovered  her  mistake  it  was  too 
late  to  withdraw,  the  aisle  beyond  her  was  already  full 
of  standing  people ;  there  was  nothing  for  her  but  to 
take  the  only  vacant  seat  in  sight.  This  put  her  in 
the  very  midst  of  the  members,  and  in  this  position 
she  was  quite  conspicuous ;  even  strangers  from  other 
settlements  saw  with  astonishment  a  woman  elegantly 
dressed,  for  that  time,  sitting  in  the  very  midst  of  the 
devout  sisters — for  the  men  and  women  sat  apart.  All 
around  Patty  there  was  not  a  single  "artificial,"  or 
piece  of  jewelry.  Indeed,  most  oi  the  women  wore 
calico  sunbonnets.  The  Hissawachee  people  who  knew 
her  were  astounded  to  see  Patty  at  meeting  at  all. 
They  remembered  her  treatment  of  Morton,  and  they 
looked  upon  Captain  Lumsden  as  Gog  and  Magog  in- 
carnated in  one.  This  sense  of  the  conspicuousness 


*  I  give  the  local  tradition  of  Bigelow's  text,  sermon,  and  tha 
accompanying  incident. 


220  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

of  her  position  was  painful  to  Patty,  but  she  presently 
forgot  herself  in  listening  to  the  singing.  There  never 
was  such  a  chorus  as  a  backwoods  Methodist  congre 
gation,  and  here  among  the  trees  they  sang  hymn  after 
hymn,  now  with  the  tenderest  pathos,  now  with  tri- 
umphant joy,  now  with  solemn  earnestness.  They  sang 
"Children  of  the  Heavenly  King,"  and  "Come  let  us 
anew,"  and  "Blow  ye  the  trumpet,  blow,"  and  "Arise 
my  soul,  arise,"  and  "  How  happy  every  child  of 
grace !  "  While  they  were  singing  this  last,  the  cele- 
brated preacher  entered  the  pulpit,  and  there  ran 
through  the  audience  a  movement  of  wonder,  almost 
of  disappointment.  His  clothes  were  of  that  sort  of 
cheap  cotton  cloth  known  as  "  blue  drilling,"  and  did 
not  fit  him.  He  was  rather  short,  and  inexpressibly 
awkward.  His  hair  hung  unkempt  over  the  best 
portion  of  his  face — the  broad  projecting  forehead. 
His  eyebrows  were  overhanging ;  his  nose,  cheek-bones 
and  chin  large.  His  mouth  was  wide  and  with  a 
sorrowful  depression  at  the  corners,  his  nostrils  thin, 
his  eyes  keen,  and  his  face  perfectly  mobile.  He 
took  for  his  text  the  words  of  "leazar  to  Laban, — - 
"  Seeking  a  bride  for  his  master,"  and,  according  to  the 
custom  of  the  time,  he  first  expounded  the  incident, 
and  then  proceeded  to  "  spiritualize  "  it,  by  applying 
it  to  the  soul's  marriage  to  Christ.  Notwithstanding 
the  ungainliness  of  his  frame  and  the  awkwardness 
of  his  postures,  there  was  a  gentlemanliness  about 
his  address  that  indicated  a  man  not  unaccus- 
tomed to  good  society.  His  words  were  well-chosen; 
his  pronunciation  always  correct ;  his  speech  gram- 


RUSSELL    BIGELOW' S    SERMON.  221 

matical.  In  all  of  these  regards  Patty  was  disap- 
pointed. 

But  the  sermon.  Who  shall  describe  "the  inde- 
scribable "?  As  the  servant,  he  proceeded  to  set  forth 
the  character  of  the  Master.  What  struck  Patty  was 
not  the  nobleness  of  his  speech,  nor  the  force  of  his 
argument;  she  seemed  to  see  in  the  countenance  that 
every  divine  trait  which  he  described  had  reflected 
itself  in  the  life  of  the  preacher  himself.  For  none 
but  the  manliest  of  men  can  ever  speak  worthily  of 
Jesus  Christ.  As  Bigelow  proceeded  he  won  her 
famished  heart  to  Christ.  For  such  a  Master  she 
could  live  or  die ;  in  such  a  life  there  was  what  Patty 
needed  most — a  purpose;  in  such  a  life  there  was  a 
friend ;  in  such  a  life  she  would  escape  that  sense 
of  the  ignobleness  of  her  own  pursuits,  and  the 
unworthiness  of  her  own  pride.  All  that  he  said  of 
Christ's  love  and  condescension  filled  her  with  a  sense 
of  sinfulness  and  meanness,  and  she  wept  bitterly. 
There  were  a  hundred  others  as  much  affected,  but 
the  eyes  of  all  her  neighbors  were  upon  her.  If  Patty 
should  be  converted,  what  a  victory! 

And  as  the  preacher  proceeded  to  describe  the  joy 
of  a  soul  wedded  forever  to  Chirst — living  nobly  after 
the  pattern  of  His  life — Patty  resolved  that  she  would 
devote  herself  to  this  life  and  this  Saviour,  and  rejoiced 
in  sympathy  with  the  rising  note  of  triumph  in  the  ser- 
mon. Then  Bigelow,  last  of  all,  appealed  to  courage 
and  to  pride — to  pride  in  its  best  sense.  Who  would 
be  ashamed  of  such  a  Bridegroom  ?  And  as  he 
depicted  the  triajp  that  some  must  pass  through  in 


222  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

accepting  Him,  Patty  saw  her  own  situation,  and  men* 
^\  tally  made  the  sacrifice.  As  he  described  the  glory  of 
renouncing  the  world,  she  thought  of  her  jewelry  and 
the  spirit  of  defiance  in  which  she  had  put  it  on. 
There,  in  the  midst  of  that  congregation,  she  took  out 
her  earrings,  and  stripped  the  flowers  from  the  bonnet. 
We  may  smile  at  the  unnecessary  sacrifice  to  an  over- 
strained literalism,  but  to  Patty  it  was  the  solemn 
renunciation  of  the  world — the  whole-hearted  espousal 
of  herself,  for  all  eternity,  to  Him  who  stands  for  all 
that  is  noblest  in  life.  Of  course  this  action  was 
visible  to  most  of  the  congregation — most  of  all  to 
the  preacher  himself.  To  the  Methodists  it  was  the 
greatest  of  triumphs,  this  public  conversion  of  Captain 
Lumsden's  daughter,  and  they  showed  their  joy  in 
many  pious  ejaculations.  Patty  did  not  seek  conceal- 
ment. She  scorned  to  creep  into  the  kingdom  of 
heaven.  It  seemed  to  her  that  she  owed  this  pub- 
licity. For  a  moment  all  eyes  were  turned  away  from 
the  orator.  He  paused  in  his  discourse  until  Patty 
had  removed  the  emblems  of  her  pride  and  antago- 
nism. Then,  turning  with  tearful  eyes  to  the  audience, 
the  preacher,  with  simple-hearted  sincerity  and  incon- 
ceivable effect,  burst  out  with,  "  Hallelujah  !  I  have 
found  a  bride  for  my  Master ! " 


CHAPTER    XXIV 

DRAWING     THE    LATCH-STRING     IN. 
/ 

1"  IP  to  this  point  Captain  Lumsden  had  been  a  spec- 
vJ  tator — having  decided  to  risk  a  new  attack  of  the 
jerks  that  he  might  stand  guard  over  Patty.  But  Patty 
was  so  far  forward  that  he  could  not  see  her,  except 
now  and  then  as  he  stretched  his  small  frame  to  peep 
over  the  shoulders  of  some  taller  man  standing  in 
front.  It  was  only  when  Bigelow  uttered  these  exulting 
words  that  he  gathered  from  the  whispers  about  him 
that  Patty  was  the  center  of  excitement.  He  instantly 
began  to  swear  and  to  push  through  the  crowd,  declar- 
ing that  he  would  take  Patty  home  and  teach  her  to 
behave  herself.  The  excitement  which  he  produced 
presently  attracted  the  attention  of  the  preacher  and  of 
the  audience.  But  Patty  was  too  much  occupied  with 
the  solemn  emotions  that  engaged  her  heart,  to  give 
any  attention  to  it. 

"  She  is  my  daughter,  and  she's  got  to  learn  to 
obey,"  said  Lumsden  in  his  quick,  rasping  voice,  push- 
ing energetically  toward  the  heart  of  the  dense  assem- 
blage with  the  purpose  of  carrying  Patty  off  by  force* 
Patty  heard  this  last  threat,  and  turned  round  just  at 
the  moment  when  her  father  had  forced  his  way  through 
the  fringe  of  standing  people  that  bordered  the  densely 


224  THE   CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

packed  congregation,  and  was  essaying,  in  his  headlong 
anger,  to  reach  her  and  drag  her  forth. 

The  Methodists  of  that  day  generally  took  pains  to 
put  themselves  under  the  protection  of  the  law  in 
order  to  avoid  disturbance  from  the  chronic  rowdyism 
of  a  portion  of  the  people.  There  was  a  magistrate 
and  a  constable  on  the  ground,  and  Lumsden,  in  pene- 
trating the  cordon  of  standing  men,  had  come  directly 
upon  the  country  justice,  who,  though  not  a  Methodist, 
had  been  greatly  moved  by  Bigelow's  oratory,  and  who, 
furthermore,  was  prone,  as  country  justices  sometimes 
are,  to  exaggerate  the  dignity  of  his  office.  At  any 
rate,  he  was  not  a  little  proud  of  the  fact  that  this 
great  orator  and  this  assemblage  of  people  had  in 
some  sense  put  themselves  under  the  protection  of  the 
Majesty  of  the  Law  as  represented  in  his  own  im- 
portant self.  And  for  Captain  Lumsden  to  come 
swearing  and  fuming  right  against  his  sacred  person 
was  not  only  a  breach  of  the  law,  it  was — what  the 
justice  considered  much  worse — a  contempt  of  court. 
Hence  ensued  a  dialogue : 

The  Court — Captain  Lumsden,  I  am  a  magistrate. 
In  interrupting  the  worship  of  Almighty  God  by  this 
peaceful  assemblage  you  are  violating  the  law.  I  do 
not  want  to  arrest  a  citizen  of  your  standing;  but  if 
you  do  not  cease  your  disturbance  I  shall  be  obliged 
to  vindicate  the  majesty  of  the  law  by  ordering  the 
constable  to  arrest  you  for  a  breach  of  the  peace,  as 
against  this  assembly.  (J.  P.  here  draws  himself  up 
to  his  full  stature,  in  the  endeavor  to  represent  the 
dignity  of  the  law.) 


DRAWING    THE    LATCH-STRING    IN.         225 

Outraged  Father — Squire,  I'll  have  you  know  that 
Patty  Lumsden's  my  daughter,  and  I  have  a  right  to 
control  her;  and  you'd  better  mind  your  own  business. 

Justice  of  the  Peace  (lowering  his  voice  to  a  solemn 
and  very  judicial  bass) — Is  she  under  eighteen  years 
of  age? 

J3y-stander  (who  does  n't  like  Lumsden)  —  She's 
twenty. 

Justice — If  your  daughter  is  past  eighteen,  she  is 
of  age.  If  you  lay  hands  on  her  I'll  have  to  take  you 
up  for  a  salt  and  battery.  If  you  carry  her  off  I'll 
take  her  back  on  a  writ  of  replevin.  Now,  Captain,  I 
could  arrest  you  here  and  fine  you  for  this  disturb- 
ance; and  if  you  don't  leave  the  meeting  at  once 
I'll  do  it. 

Here  Captain  Lumsden  grew  angrier  than  ever, 
but  a  stalwart  class-leader  from  another  settlement, 
provoked  by  the  interruption  of  the  eloquent  sermon 
and  out  of  patience  with  "the  law's  delay,"  laid  off 
his  coat  and  spat  on  his  hands  preparatory  to  ejecting 
Lumsden,  neck  and  heels,  on  his  own  account.  At  the 
same  moment  an  old  sister  near  at  hand  began  to 
pray  aloud,  vehemently  :  "  O  Lord,  convert  him ! 
Strike  him  down,  Lord,  right  where  he  stands,  like 
Saul  of  Tarsus.  O  Lord,  smite  the  stiff-necked  per- 
secutor  by  almighty  power !  " 

This  last  was  too  much  for  the  Captain.  He 
might  have  risked  arrest,  he  might  have  faced  the 
herculean  class-leader,  but  he  had  already  felt  the  jerks 
and  was  quite  superstitious  about  them.  This  prayer 
agitated  him.  He  was  not  ambitious  to  emulate  Pau\ 


226  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

and  he  began  to  believe  that  if  he  stood  still  a  min 
ute  longer  he  would  surely  be  smitten  to  the  ground 
at  the  request  of  the  sister  with  a  relish  for  dramatic 
conversions.  Casting  one  terrified  glance  at  the  old 
sister,  whose  confident  eyes  were  turned  toward  heaven, 
Lumsden  broke  through  the  surrounding  crowd  and 
started  toward  home  at  a  most  undignified  pace. 

Patty's  devout  feelings  were  sadly  interrupted  dur- 
ing the  remainder  of  the  sermon  by  forebodings. 
But  she  had  a  will  as  inflexible  as  her  father's,  and 
now  that  her  will  was  backed  by  convictions  of  duty 
it  was  more  firmly  set  than  ever.  Bigelow  announced 
that  he  would  "open  the  door  of  the  church,"  and 
the  excited  congregation  made  the  forest  ring  with 
that  hymn  of  Watts'  which  has  always  been  the  re- 
cruiting song  of  Methodism.  The  application  to  Patty's 
case  produced  great  emotion  when  the  singing  reached 
the  stanzas: 

*  Must  I  be  carried  to  the  skies 

On  flowery  beds  of  ease, 
While  others  fought  to  win  the  prize 
And  sailed  through  bloody  seas? 

"  Are  there  no  foes  for  me  to  face? 

Must  I  not  stem  the  flood? 
Is  this  vile  world  a  friend  to  grace 
To  help  me  on  to  God?" 

At  this  point  Patty  slowly  rose  from  the  place 
where  she  had  been  sitting  weeping,  and  maiched 
resolutely  through  the  excited  crowd  until  she  reached 
the  preacher,  to  whom  she  extended  her  hand  in 
token  of  her  desire  to  become  a  church-member 


DRAWING     THE    LATCH-STRING    IN.         22Y 

While   she   came   forward,  the  congregation    sang  witk 
great  fervor,  and  not  a  little  sensation : 

"Since  I  must  fight  if  I  would  reign, 

Increase  my  courage,  Lord ; 
I'll  bear  the  toil,  endure  the  pain, 
Supported  hy  thy  word." 

After  many  had  followed  Patty's  example  the 
meeting  closed.  Every  Methodist  shook  hands  with 
the  new  converts,  particularly  with  Patty,  uttering 
words  of  sympathy  and  encouragement.  Some  offered 
to  go  home  with  her  to  keep  her  in  countenance  in 
the  inevitable  conflict  with  her  father,  but,  with  a  true 
delicacy  and  filial  dutifulness,  Patty  insisted  on  going 
alone.  CThere  are  battles  which  are  fought  better 
without  allies. 

That  ten  minutes'  walk  was  a  time  of  agony  and 
suspense.  As  she  came  up  to  the  house  she  saw  her 
father  sitting  on  the  door-step,  riding-whip  in  hand. 
Though  she  knew  his  nervous  habit  of  carrying  his 
raw-hide  whip  long  after  he  had  dismounted — a  habit 
having  its  root  in  a  domineering  disposition — she  was 
not  without  apprehension  that  he  would  use  personal 
violence.  But  he  was  quiet  now,  from  extreme  anger. 

"  Patty,"  he  said,  "  either  you  will  promise  me  on 
the  spot  to  give  up  this  infernal  Methodism,  or  you 
can°t  come  in  here  to  bring  your  praying  and  groan* 
ing  into  my  ears.  Are  you  going  to  give  it  up  ? " 

"  Don't  turn  me  off,  father,"  pleaded  Patty.  "  You 
need  me.  I  can  stand  it,  but  what  will  you  do  when 
your  rheumatism  comes  on  next  winter?  Do  let  me 


228  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

stay  and  take  care  of  you.     I  won't  bother  you  about 
my  religion." 

"  I  won't  have  this  blubbering,  shouting  nonsense  in 
my  house,"  screamed  the  father,  frantically.  He  would 
have  said  more,  but  he  choked.  "You've  disgraced 
the  family,"  he  gasped,  after  a  minute. 

Patty  stood  still,  and  said  no  more. 

"  Will  you  give  up  your  nonsense  about  being 
religious  ?  " 

Patty  shook  her  head. 

"  Then,  clear  out !  "  cried  the  Captain,  and  with  an 
oath  he  went  into  the  house  and  pulled  the  latch- 
string  in.  The  latch-string  was  the  symbol  of  hospi- 
tality. To  say  that  "the  latch-string  was  out"  was  to 
open  your  door  to  a  friend ;  to  pull  it  in  was  the 
most  significant  and  inhospitable  act  Lumsden  could 
perform.  For  when  the  latch-string  is  in,  the  door  is 
locked.  The  daughter  was  not  only  to  be  a  daughter 
no  longer,  she  was  now  an  enemy  at  whose  approach 
the  latch-string  was  withdrawn. 

Patty  was  full  of  natural  affection.  She  turned  away 
to  seek  a  home.  Where?  She  walked  aimlessly  down 
the  road  at  first.  She  had  but  one  thought  as  she 
receded  from  the  old  house  that  had  been  hei  home 
from  infancy • 

The  latch-string  was  drawn  in. 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

ANN   ELIZA. 

HOW  shall  I  make  you  understand  this  book,  reader 
of  mine,  who  never  knew  the  influences  that  sur* 
rounded  a  Methodist  of  the  old  sort.  Up  to  this  point 
I  have  walked  by  faith ;  I  could  not  see  how  the  pres- 
ent generation  could  be  made  to  comprehend  the 
earnestness  of  their  grandfathers.  But  I  have  hoped 
that,  none  the  less,  they  might  dimly  perceive  the  pos- 
sibility of  a  religious  fervor  that  was  as  a  fire  in  the 
bones. 

But  now? 

You  have  never  been  a  young  Methodist  preacher 
of  the  olden  time.  You  never  had  over  you  a  presid- 
ing elder  who  held  your  fate  in  his  hands ;  who,  more 
than  that,  was  the  man  appointed  by  the  church  to  be 
your  godly  counsellor.  In  the  olden  time  especially, 
presiding  elders  were  generally  leaders  of  men,  the  best 
and  greatest  men  that  the  early  Methodist  ministry 
afforded ;  greatest  in  the  qualities  most  prized  in  ecclesi- 
astical organization  —  practical  shrewdness,  executive 
force,  and  a  piety  of  unction  and  lustre.  How  shall 
I  make  you  understand  the  weight  which  the  words  of 
such  a  man  had  when  he  thought  it  needful  to  counsel 
or  admonish  a  young  preacher? 


230  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

Our  old  friend  Magruder,  having  shown  his  value 
as  an  organizer,  had  been  made  an  "elder,"  and  just 
now  he  thought  it  his  duty  to  have  a  solemn  conversa- 
tion with  the  "  preacher-in-charge "  of  Jenkinsville  cir- 
cuit, upon  matters  of  great  delicacy.  Magruder  was 
not  a  man  of  nice  perceptions,  and  he  was  dimly  con- 
scious of  his  own  unfitness  for  the  task  before  him. 
It  was  on  the  Saturday  of  a  quarterly  meeting.  He 
had  said  to  the  "  preacher-in-charge "  that  he  would 
like  to  have  a  word  with  him,  and  they  were  walking 
side  by  side  through  the  woods.  Neither  of  them 
looked  at  the  other.  The  "elder"  was  trying  in  vain 
to  think  of  a  point  at  which  to  begin;  the  young 
preacher  was  wondering  what  the  elder  would  say. 

"  Let  us  sit  down  here  on  this  lind  log,  brother," 
said  Magruder,  desperately. 

When  they  had  sat  down  there  was  a  pause. 

"  Have  you  ever  thought  of  marrying,  brother  Good- 
win?" he  broke  out  abruptly  at  last. 

"I  have,  brother  Magruder,"  said  Morton,  curtly, 
not  disposed  to  help  the  presiding  elder  out  of  his 
difficulty.  Then  he  added:  "But  not  thinking  it  a 
profitable  subject  for  meditation,  I  have  turned  my 
thoughts  to  other  things." 

"  Ahem !  But  have  you  not  taken  some  steps 
toward  matrimony  without  consulting  with  your  breth- 
ren, as  the  discipline  prescribes  ?  " 

"No,  sir." 

"  But,  Brother  Goodwin,  I  understand  that  you 
have  done  a  great  wrong  to  a  defenceless  girl,  who  is 
a  stranger  in  a  strange  land." 


ANN  ELIZA. 


231 


"  Do  you  mean  Sister  Ann  Eliza  Meacham  ?  w 
asked  Morton,  startled  by  the  solemnity  with  which 
the  presiding  elder  spoke. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  that  you  feel  enough  in  the 
matter  to  guess  who  the  person  is.  You  have  en- 
couraged her  to  think  that  you  meant  to  marry 
her.  If  I  am  correctly  informed,  you  even  advised 

Holston,  who  was  her 
lover,  not  to  annoy 
her  any  more,  and 
you  assumed  to  de- 
fend her  rights  in  the 
lawsuit  about  a  piece 
S  of  land.  Whether  you 
meant  to  marry  her  or 
not,  you  have  at  least 
compromised  her.  And 
in  such  circumstances 
there  is  but  one  course 
open  to  a  Christian  or 
a  gentleman."  The 
ANN  ELIZA.  elder  spoke  severely. 

"  Brother  Magruder,  I  will  tell  you  the  plain  truth," 
said  Morton,  rising  and  speaking  with  vehemence.  "  I 
have  been  very  much  struck  with  the  eloquence  of  Sister 
Ann  Eliza  when  she  leads  in  prayer  or  speaks  in  love- 
feast.  I  did  not  mean  to  marry  anybody.  I  have  always 
defended  the  poor  and  the  helpless.  She  told  me  her 
history  one  day,  and  I  felt  sorry  for  her.  I  deter- 
mined to  befriend  her."  Here  Morton  paused  in  some 
embarrassment,  not  knowing  just  how  to  proceed. 


232  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

"  Befriend  a  woman !  That  is  the  most  imprudent 
thing  in  the  world  for  a  minister  to  do,  my  de^r 
brother.  You  cannot  befriend  a  woman  without  doing 
harm." 

"Well,  she  wanted  help,  and  I  could  not  refuse  to 
give  it  to  her.  She  told  me  that  she  had  refused 
Bob  Holston  five  times,  and  that  he  kept  troubling 
her.  I  met  Bob  alone  one  day,  and  I  remonstrated 
with  him  pretty  earnestly,  and  -he  went  all  round  the 
country  and  said  that  I  told  him  I  was  engaged 
to  Ann  Eliza,  and  would  whip  him  if  he  didn't  let 
her  alone.  What  I  did  tell  him  was,  that  I  was  Ann 
Eliza's  friend,  because  she  had  no  other,  and  that  I 
thought,  as  a  gentleman,  he  ought  to  take  five  refusals 
as  sufficient,  and  not  wait  till  he  was  knocked  down 
by  refusals." 

"  Why,  my  brother,"  said  the  elder,  "  when  you  take 
up  a  woman's  cause  that  way,  you  have  got  to  marry 
her  or  ruin  her  and  yourself,  too.  If  you  were  not  a 
minister  you  might  have  a  female  friend  or  two  ;  and 
you  might  help  a  woman  in  distress.  But  you  are  a 
sheep  in  the  midst  of — of — wolves.  Half  the  girls  on 
this  circuit  would  like  to  marry  yoiyi,  and  if  you  were 
to  help  one  of  them  over  the  fence,  or  hold  her  bridle-  tff 
rein  for  her  while  she  gets  on  the  horse,  or  talk  five 
minutes  with  her  about  the  turnip  crop,  she  would 
consider  herself  next  thing  to  engaged.  Now,  as  to 
Sister  Ann  Eliza,  you  have  given  occasion  to  gossip 
over  the  whole  circuit." 

"  Who  told  you  so  ? "  asked  Morton,  with  rising 
indignation. 


ANN  ELIZA.  233 

"Why,  everybody.  I  hadn't  more  than  touched  the 
circuit  at  Boggs'  Corners  till  I  heard  that  you  were  to 
be  married  at  this  very  Quarterly  Meeting.  And  I  felt 
a  little  grieved  that  you  should  go  so  far  without  any 
consultation  with  me.  I  stopped  at  Sister  Sims's — she's 
Ann  Eliza's  aunt  I  believe — and  told  her  that  I  sup- 
posed you  and  Sister  Ann  Eliza  were  going  to  require 
my  aid  pretty  soon,  and  she  burst  into  tears.  She  said 
that  if  there  had  been  anything  between  you  and  Ann 
Eliza,  it  must  be  broken  off,  for  you  hadn't  stopped 
there  at  all  on  your  last  round.  Now  tell  me  the 
plain  truth,  brother.  Did  you  not  at  one  time  enter- 
tain a  thought  of  marrying  Sister  Ann  Eliza  Meacham  ?  " 

"  I  have  thought  about  it.  She  is  good-looking  and 
I  could  not  be  with  her  without  liking  her.  Then, 
too,  everybody  said  that  she  was  cut  out  for  a  preacher's 
wife.  But  I  never  paid  her  any  attention  that  could 
be  called  courtship.  I  stopped  going  there  because 
somebody  had  bantered  me  about  her.  I  was  afraid  of 
talk.  I  will  not  deny  that  I  was  a  little  taken  with  herr 
at  first,  but  when  I  thought  of  marrying  her  I  found  that 
I  did  not  love  her  as  one  ought  to  love  a  wife — as 
much  as  I  had  once  loved  somebody  else.  And  then, 
too,  you  know  that  nine  out  of  every  ten  who  marry 
have  to  locate  sooner  or  later,  and  I  don't  want  to 
give  up  the  ministry.  I  think  it's  hard  if  a  man  can- 
not help  a  girl  in  distress  without  being  forced  to 
marry  her." 

"  Well,  Brother  Goodwin,  we'll  not  discuss  the  matter 
further,"  said  the  elder,  who  was  more  than  ever  con- 
vinced by  Morton's  admissions  that  he  had  acted 


234  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

reprehensibly.  "  I  have  confidence  in  you.  You  have 
done  a  great  wrong,  whether  you  meant  it  or  not. 
There  is  only  one  way  of  making  the  thing  right.  It's 
a  bad  thing  for  a  preacher  to  have  a  broken  heart 
laid  at  his  door.  Now  I  tell  you  that  I  don't  know 
anybody  who  would  make  a  better  preacher's  wife  than 
Sister  Meacham.  If  the  case  stands  as  it  does  now  I 
may  have  to  object  to  the  passage  of  your  character 
at  the  next  conference." 

This  last  was  an  awful  threat.  In  that  time  when 
the  preachers  lived  far  apart,  the  word  of  a  presiding 
elder  was  almost  enough  to  ruin  a  man.  But  instead 
of  terrifying  Morton,  the  threat  made  him  sullenly 
stubborn.  If  the  elder  and  the  conference  could  be  so 
unjust  he  would  bear  the  consequences,  but  would  never 
submit. 

The  congregation  was  too  large  to  sit  in  the  school- 
house,  and  the  presiding  elder  accordingly  preached  in 
the  grove.  All  the  time  of  his  preaching  Morton 
Goodwin  was  scanning  the  audience  to  see  if  the  zeal- 
ous Ann  Eliza  were  there.  But  no  Ann  Eliza  appeared. 
Nothing  but  grief  could  thus  keep  her  away  from  the 
meeting.  The  more  Morton  meditated  upon  it,  the 
more  guilty  did  he  feel.  He  had  acted  from  the  highest 
motives.  He  did  not  know  that  Ann  Eliza's  aunt — ' 
the  weak-looking  Sister  Sims — had  adroitly  intrigued 
to  give  his  kindness  the  appearance  of  courtship.  How 
could  he  suspect  Sister  Sims  or  Ann  Eliza  of  any 
design?  Old  ministers  know  better  than  to  trust  im* 
plicitly  to  the  goodness  and  truthfulness  of  all  pious 
people.  There  are  people,  pious  in  their  way,  in  whose 


ANN  ELIZA.  235 

natures  intrigue  and  fraud  are  so  indigenous  that  they 
grow  all  unsuspected  by  themselves.  Intrigue  is  one 
of  the  Diabolonians  of  whom  Bunyan  speaks — a  small 
but  very  wicked  devil  that  creeps  into  the  city  of 
Mansoul  under  an  alias. 

A  susceptible  nature  like  Morton's  takes  color  from 
other  people.  He  was  conscious  that  Magruder's  con- 
fidence in  him  was  weakened,  and  it  seemed  to  him 
that  all  the  brethren  and  sisters  looked  at  him  askance. 
When  he  came  to  make  the  concluding  prayer  he  had 
a  sense  of  hollowness  in  his  devotions,  and  he  really 
began  to  suspect  that  he  might  be  a  hypocrite. 

In  the  afternoon  the  Quarterly  Conference  met,  and 
in  the  presence  of  class-leaders,  stewards,  local  preachers 
and  exhorters  from  different  parts  of  the  circuit,  the 
once  popular  preacher  felt  that  he  had  somehow  lost 
caste.  He  received  fifteen  dollars  of  the  twenty  which 
the  circuit  owed  him,  according  to  the  discipline,  for 
three  months  of  labor;  and  small  as  was  the  amount,  s- 
the  scrupulous  and  now  morbid  Morton  doubted 
whether  he  were  fairly  entitled  to  it.  Sometimes  he 
thought  seriously  of  satisfying  his  doubting  conscience 
by  marrying  Ann  Eliza  with  or  without  love.  But 
his  whole  proud,  courageous  nature  rebelled  against 
submitting  to  marry  under  compulsion  of  Magruder's 
threat. 

At  the  evening  service  Goodwin  had  to  preach,  and 
he  got  on  but  poorly.  He  looked  in  vain  for  Miss 
Ann  Eliza  Meacham.  She  was  not  there  to  go  through 
the  audience  and  with  winning  voice  persuade  those  who 
were  smitten  with  conviction  to  come  to  the  mourner's 


236  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

bench  for  prayer.  She  was  not  there  to  pray  audibly 
until  every  heart  should  be  shaken.  Morton  was  not 
the  only  person  who  missed  her.  So  famous  a  "  work- 
ing Christian  "  could  not  but  be  a  general  favorite; 
and  the  people  were  not  slow  to  divine  the  cause 
of  her  absence.  Brother  Goodwin  found  the  faces 
of  his  brethren  averted,  and  the  grasp  of  their 
hands  less  cordial.  But  this  only  made  him  sulky  and 
stubborn.  He  had  never  meant  to  excite  Sister  Mea- 
cham's  expectations,  and  he  would  not  be  driven  to 
marry  her. 

The  early  Sunday  morning  of  that  Quarterly  Meet- 
ing saw  all  the  roads  crowded  with  people.  Every- 
body was  on  horseback,  and  almost  every  horse  carried 
"double."  At  half-past  eight  o'clock  the  love-feast 
began  in  the  large  school-house.  No  one  was  admitted 
who  did  not  hold  a  ticket,  and  even  of  those  who  had 
tickets  some  were  turned  away  on  account  of  their 
naughty  curls,  their  sinful  '*  artificials,"  or  their  wicked 
ear-rings.  At  the  moment  when  the  love-feast  began 
the  door  was  locked,  and  no  tardy  member  gained 
admission.  Plates,  with  bread  cut  into  half-inch  cubes, 
were  passed  round,  and  after  these  glasses  of  water, 
from  which  each  sipped  in  turn — this  meagre  provision 
standing  ideally  for  a  feast.  Then  the  speaking  was 
opened  by  some  of  the  older 'brethren,  who  were  par- 
ticularly careful  as  to  dates,  announcing,  for  instance, 
that  it  would  be  just  thirty-seven  years  ago  the  twenty* 
first  day  of  next  November  since  the  Lord  "  spoke 
peace  to  my  never-dying  soul  while  I  was  kneeling  at 
the  mourner's  bench  in  Logan's  school-house  on  the 


ANN  ELIZA.  237 

banks  of  the  South  Fork  of  the  Roanoke  River  in 
Old  Virginny. "  This  statement  the  brethren  had  heard 
for  many  years,  with  a  proper  variation  in  date  as  the 
time  advanced,  but  now,  as  in  duty  bound,  they  greeted 
it  again  with  pious  ejaculations  of  thanksgiving.  There 
was  a  sameness  in  the  perorations  of  these  little 
speeches.  Most  of  the  old  men  wound  up  by  asking 
an  interest  in  the  prayers  of  the  brethren,  that  their 
"last  days  might  be  their  best  days,"  and  that  their 
"path  might  grow  brighter  and  brighter  unto  the  per- 
fect day."  Soon  the  elder  sisters  began  to  speak  of 
their  trials  and  victories,  of  their  "ups  and  downs," 
their  "many  crooked  paths,"  and  the  religion  that 
"  happifies  the  soul."  With  their  pathetic  voices  the 
fire  spread,  until  the  whole  meeting  was  at  a  white- 
heat,  and  cries  of  "Hallelujah!"  "Amen!"  "Bless 
the  Lord  !  "  "  Glory  to  God  !  "  and  so  on  expressed  the 
fervor  of  feeling.  Of  course,  you,  sitting  out  of  the 
atmosphere  of  it  and  judging  coldly,  laugh  at  this 
indecorous  fervor.  Perhaps  it  is  just  as  well  to  laugh, 
but  for  my  part  I  cannot.  I  know  too  well  how  deep 
and  vital  were  the  emotions  out  of  which  came  these 
utterances  of  simple  and  earnest  hearts.  I  find  it  hard 
to  get  over  an  early  prejudice  that  piety  is  of  more 
consequence  than  propriety. 

Morton  was  looking  in  vain  for  Ann  Eliza.  If  she 
were  present  he  could  hardly  tell  it.  Make  the  bon- 
nets of  women  cover  their  faces  and  make  them  all 
alike,  and  set  them  in  meeting  with  faces  resting  for- 
ward upon  their  hands,  and  then  dress  them  in  a  uni- 
form of  homespun  cotton*  and  there  is  not  much 


238  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

individuality  left.  If  Ann  Eliza  Meacham  were  pres- 
ent she  would,  according  to  custom,  speak  early ;  and 
all  that  this  love-feast  lacked  was  one  of  her  rapt  and 
eloquent  utterances.  So  when  the  speaking  and  singing 
had  gone  on  for  an  hour,  and  the  voice  of  Sister 
Meacham  was  not  heard,  Morton  sadly  concluded  that 
she  must  have  remained  at  home,  heart-broken  on 
account  of  disappointment  at  his  neglect.  In  this  he 
was  wrong.  Just  at  that  moment  a  sister  rose  in  the 
further  corner  of  the  room  and  began  to  speak  in  a 
low  and  plaintive  voice.  It  was  Ann  Eliza.  But  how 
changed ! 

She  proceeded  to  say  that  she  had  passed  through 
many  fiery  trials  in  her  life.  Of  late  she  had  been  led 
through  deep  waters  of  temptation,  and  the  floods  of 
affliction  had  gone  over  her  soul.  (Here  some  of  the 
brethren  sighed,  and  some  of  the  sisters  looked  at 
Brother  Goodwin.)  The  devil  had  tempted  her  to  stay 
at  home.  He  had  ter  pted  her  to  sit  silent  this  morn- 
ing, telling  her  that  her  voice  would  only  discourage 
others.  But  at  last  she  had  got  the  victory  and 
received  strength  to  bear  her  cross.  With  this,  her 
voice  rose  and  she  spoke  in  tones  of  plaintive  triumph 
to  the  end.  Morton  was  greatly  affected,  not  because  her 
affliction  was  universally  laid  at  his  door,  but  because 
he  now  began  to  feel,  as  he  had  not  felt  before,  that 
he  had  indeed  wrought  her  a  great  injury.  As  she 
stood  there,  sorrowful  and  eloquent,  he  almost  loved 
her.  He  pitied  her;  and  Pity  lives  on  the  next  floor 
below  Love. 

As   for   Ann    Eliza,  I  would   not   have    the    readei 


ANN  ELIZA.  239 

think  too  meanly  of  her.  She  had  resolved  to  "  catch" 
Rev.  Morton  Goodwin  from  the  moment  she  saw  him. 
But  one  of  the  oldest  and  most  incontestable  of  the 
rights  which  the  highest  civilization  accords  to  woman 
is  that  of  "  bringing  down"  the  chosen  man  if  she  can. 
Ann  Eliza  was  not  consciously  hypocritical.  Her  deep 
religious  feeling  was  genuine.  She  had  a  native  genius 
for  devotion — an^  a  genius  for  devotion  is  as  much  a 
natural  gift  as  a  genius  for  poetry.  Notwithstanding 
her  eloquence  and  her  rare  talent  for  devotion, 
her  gifts  in  the  direction  of  honesty  and  truthfulness" 
were  few  and  feeble.  A  phrenologist  would  have  de— ' 
scribed  such  a  character  as  possessing  "  Spirituality 
and  Veneration  very  large ;  Conscientiousness  small." 
You  have  seen  such  people,  and  the  world  is  ever 
prone  to  rank  them  at  first  as  saints,  afterwards  as 
hypocrites;  for  the  world  classifies  people  in  gross — it 
has  no  nice  distinctions.  Ann  Eliza,  like  most  people 
of  the  oratorical  temperament,  was  not  over-scrupulous 
in  her  way  of  producing  effects.  She  could  sway  her 
own  mind  as  easily  as  she  could  that  of  others.  In 
the  case  of  Morton,  she  managed  to  believe  herself 
the  victim  of  misplaced  confidence.  She  saw  nothing 
reprehensible  either  in  her  own  or  her  aunt's  manceu- 
vering.  She  only  knew  that  she  had  been  bitterly 
disappointed,  and  characteristically  blamed  him  through 
whom  the  disappointment  had  come. 

Morton  was  accustomed  to  judge  by  the  standards 
of  his  time.  Such  genuine  fervor  was,  in  his  estima- 
tion, evidence  of  a  high  state  of  piety.  One  "  who 
lived  so  near  the  throne  of  grace,"  in  Methodist  phrase, 


240  THE   CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

must  be  honest  and  pure  and  good.  So  Morton 
reasoned.  He  had  wounded  such  an  one.  He  owed 
reparation.  In  marrying  Ann  Eliza  he  would  be  act- 
ing generously,  honestly  and  wisely,  according  to  the 
opinion  of  the  presiding  elder,  the  highest  authority 
he  knew.  For  in  Ann  Eliza  Meacham  he  would  get 
the  most  saintly  of  wives,  the  most  zealous  of  Chris- 
tians, the  most  useful  of  women.  So  when  Mr. 
Magruder  exhorted  the  brethren  at  the  close  of  the 
service  to  put  away  every  sin  out  of  their  hearts 
before  they  ventured  to  take  the  communion,  Morton, 
with  many  tears,  resolved  to  atone  for  all  the  harm 
he  had  unwittingly  done  to  Sister  Ann  Eliza  Mea- 
cham, and  to  marry  her — if  the  Lord  should  open  the 
way. 

But  neither  could  he  remain  firm  in  this  conclu- 
sion. His  high  spirit  resented  the  threat  of  the 
presiding  elder.  He  would  not  be  driven  into  mar- 
riage. In  this  uncomfortable  frame  of  mind  he  passed 
the  night.  But  Magruder  being  a  shrewd  man, 
guessed  the  state  of  Morton's  feelings,  and  per- 
ceived his  own  mistake.  As  he  mounted  his  horse 
on  Monday  morning,  Morton  stood  with  averted 
eyes,  ready  to  bid  an  official  farewell  to  his  presiding 
elder,  but  not  ready  to  give  his  usual  cordial  adieu  to 
Brother  Magruder. 

"Goodwin,"  said  Magruder,  looking  at  Morton  with 
sincere  pity,  "forgive  me;  I  ought  not  to  have  spoken 
as  I  did.  I  know  you  will  do  right,  and  I  had  no 
right  to  threaten  you.  Be  a  man;  that  is  all.  Live 
above  reproach  and  act  like  a  Christian.  I  am  sorry 


ANN  ELIZA.  241 

you  have  involved  yourself.  It  is  better  not  to  marry, 
maybe,  though  I  have  always  maintained  that  a  mar- 
ried man  can  live  in  the  ministry  if  he  is  careful  and 
has  a  good  wife.  Besides,  Sister  Meacham  has  some 
land." 

So  saying,  he  shook  hands  and  rode  away  a  little 
distance.  Then  he  turned  back  and  said : 

"  You  heard  that  Brother  Jones  was  dead  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"Well,  I'm  going  to  send  word  to  Brother  Lums* 
den  to  take  his  place  on  Peterborough  circuit  till 
Conference.  I  suppose  some  young  exhorter  can  be 
found  to  take  Lumsden's  place  as  second  man  on 
Pottawottomie  Creek,  and  Peterborough  is  too  impor- 
tant a  place  to  be  left  vacant." 

"I'm  afraid  Kike  won't  stand  it,"  said  Morton, 
coldly. 

"Oh!  I  hope  he  will.  Peterborough  isn't  much  more 
unhealthy  than  Pottawottomie  Creek.  A  little  more 
intermittent  fever,  maybe.  But  it  is  the  best  I  can 
do.  The  work  is  everything.  The  men  are  the  Lord's. 
Lumsden  is  a  good  man,  and  I  should  hate  to  lose 
him,  though.  He'll  stop  and  see  you  as  he  comes 
through,  I  suppose.  I  think  I'd  better  give  you  the 
plan  of  his  circuit,  which  I  got  the  other  day."  After 
adieux,  a  little  more  friendly  than  the  first,  the  two 
preachers  parted  again. 

Morton  mounted  Dolly.  The  day  was  far  advanced, 
and  he  had  an  appointment  to  preach  that  very  even- 
ing at  the  Salt  Fork  school-house.  He  had  never  yet 
failed  to  suffer  from  a  disturbance  of  some  sort  when 


242  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

he  had  preached  in  this  rude  neighborhood;  and 
having  spoken  very  boldly  in  his  last  round,  he  was 
sure  of  a  perilous  encounter.  But  now  the  prospect  of 
fighting  with  the  wild  beasts  of  Salt  Fork  was  almost 
enchanting.  It  would  divert  him  from  graver  appre- 
hensions. 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 

ENGAGEMENT. 

YOU  do  not  like  Morton  in  his  vacillating  state  o! 
mind  as  he  rides  toward  Salt  Fork,  weighing 
considerations  of  right  and  wrong,  of  duty  and  disin- 
clination, in  the  balance.  He  is  not  an  epic  hero,  for 
epic  heroes  act  straightforwardly,  they  either  know  by 
intuition  just  what  is  right,  or  they  are  like  Milton's 
Satan,  unencumbered  with  a  sense  of  duty..  But  Mor- 
ton was  neither  infallible  nor  a  devil.  A  man  of  sen- 
sitive conscience  cannot,  even  by  accident,  break  a 
woman's  heart  without  compunction. 

When  Goodwin  approached  Salt  Fork  he  was  met 
by  Burchard,  now  sheriff  of  the  county,  and  warned 
that  he  worM  be  attacked.  Burchard  begged  him  to 
turn  back.  Morton  might  have  scoffed  at  the  coward- 
ice and  time-serving  of  the  sheriff,  if  he  had  not  been 
under  such  obligations  to  him,  and  had  not  been 
touched  by  this  new  evidence  of  his  friendship.  But 
Goodwin  had  never  turned  back  from  peril  in  his  life. 

"  I  have  a  right  to  preach  at  Salt  Fork,  Burchard," 
he  said,  "and  I  will  do  it  or  die." 

Even  in  the  struggle  at  Salt  Fork  Morton  could 
not  get  rid  of  his  love  affair.  He  was  touched  to  find 
lying  on  the  desk  in  the  school-house  a  little  unsigned 


244  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

billet  in  Ann  Eliza's  handwriting,  uttering  a  warning 
similar  to  that  just  given  by  Burchard. 

It  was  with  some  tremor  that  he  looked  round,  in 
the  dim  light  of  two  candles,  upon  the  turbulent  faces 
between  him  and  the  door.  His  prayer  and  singing 
were  a  little  faint.  But  when  once  he  began  to  preach, 
his  combative  courage  returned,  and  his  ringing  voice 
rose  above  all  the  shuffling  sounds  of  disorder.  The 
interruptions,  however,  soon  became  so  distinct  that  he 
dared  not  any  longer  ignore  them.  Then  he  paused 
in  his  discourse  and  looked  at  the  rioters  steadily. 

"  You  think  you  will  scare  me.  It  is  my  business 
to  rebuke  sin.  I  tell  you  that  you  are  a  set  of  ungodly 
ruffians  and  law  breakers.  I  tell  youi  neighbors  here 
that  they  are  miserable  cowards.  They  let  lawless  men 
trample  on  them.  I  say,  shame  on  them  !  They  ought 
to  organize  and  arrest  you  if  it  cost  their  lives." 

Here  a  click  was  heard  as  of  some  one  cocking  a 
horse-pistol.  Morton  turned  pale  ;  but  something  in  his 
warm,  Irish  blood  impelled  him  to  proceed.  "  I  called 
you  ruffians  awhile  ago,"  he  said,  huskily.  "  Now  I 
tell  you  that  you  are  cut-throats.  If  you  kill  me  here 
to-night,  'I  will  show  your  neighbors  that  it  is  better 
to  die  like  a  man  than  to  live  like  a  coward.  The 
law  will  yet  be  put  in  force  whether  you  kill  me  or  not. 
There  are  some  of  you  that  would  belong  to  Micajah 
Harp's  gang  of  robbers  if  you  dared.  But  you  are  afraid; 
and  so  you  only  give  information  and  help  to  those 
who  are  no  worse,  only  a  little  braver  than  you  are." 

Goodwin  had  let  his  impetuous  temper  carry  him 
too  far.  He  now  saw  that  his  denunciation  had  de* 


ENGAGEMENT. 


215 


generated  into  a  taunt,  and  this  taunt  had  provoked 
his  enemies  beyond  measure.  He  had  been  foolhardy ; 
for  what  good  could  it  do  for  him  to  throw  away  his  life 


in  a  row?  There  was 
murder  in  the  eyes  of  the 
ruffians.  Half-  /» -  dozen 
pistols  were  cocked  in 
quick 'succession  and  he 
FACING  A  MOB.  caught  the  glitter  of 

Jcnives.  A  hasty  consultation  was  taking  place  in  the 
back  part  of  the  room,  and  the  few  Methodists  near  him 
huddled  together  like  sheep.  If  he  intended  to  save  his 


246  TH&    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

life  there  was  no  time  to  spare.  The  address  and  pres* 
ence  of  mind  for  which  he  had  been  noted  in  boyhood 
did  not  fail  him  now.  It  would  not  do  to  seem  to  quail 
Without  lowering  his  fiercely  indignant  tone,  he  raised 
his  right  hand  and  demanded  that  honest  citizens 
should  rally  to  his  support  and  put  down  the  riot. 
His  descending  hand  knocked  one  of  the  two  candles 
from  the  pulpit  in  the  most  accidental  way  in  the 
world.  Starting  back  suddenly,  he  managed  to  upset 
and  extinguish  the  other  just  at  the  instant  when  the 
infuriated  roughs  were  making  a  combined  rush  upon 
him.  The  room  was  thus  made  totally  dark.  Morton 
plunged  into  the  on-coming  crowd.  Twice  he  was 
seized  and  interrogated,  but  he  changed  his  voice  and 
avoided  detection.  When  at  last  the  crowd  gave  up 
the  search  and  began  to  leave  the  house,  he  drifted 
with  them  into  the  outer  darkness  and  rain.  Once 
upon  Dolly  he  was  safe  from  any  pursuit. 

When  the  swift-footed  mare  had  put  him  beyond 
danger,  Morton  was  in  better  spirits  than  at  any  time 
since  the  elder's  solemn  talk  on  the  preceding  Saturday. 
He  had  the  exhilaration  of  a  sense  of  danger  and  of 
a  sense  of  triumph.  So  bold  a  speech,  and  so  masterly 
an  escape  as  he  had  made  could  not  but  demoralize 
men  like  the  Salt  Forkers.  He  laughed  a  little  at 
himself  for  talking  about  dying  and  then  running  away, 
but  he  inly  determined  to  take  the  earliest  opportunity 
to  urge  upon  Burchard  the  duty  of  a  total  suppression 
of  these  lawless  gangs.  He  would  himself  head  a  party 
against  them  if  necessary. 

This  cheerful  mood  gradually  subsided  into  depres* 


ENGAGEMENT.  247 

sion  as  his  mind  reverted  to  the  note  in  Ann  Eliza's 
writing.  How  thoughtful  in  her  to  send  it  \  How 
delicate  she  was  in  not  signing  it !  How  forgiving 
must  her  temper  be !  What  a  stupid  wretch  he  was  to 
attract  her  affection,  and  now  what  a  perverse  soul 
he  was  to  break  her  devoted  heart ! 

This  was  the  light  in  which  Morton  saw  the  situa- 
tion. A  more  suspicious  man  might  have  reasoned 
that  Ann  Eliza  probably  knew  no  more  of  Goodwin's 
peril  at  Salt  Fork  than  was  known  in  all  the  neigh- 
boring country,  and  that  her  note  was  a  gratuitous 
thrusting  of  herself  on  his  attention.  A  suspicious  per- 
son would  have  reasoned  that  her  delicacy  in  not 
signing  the  note  was  only  a  pretense,  since  Morton 
had  become  familiar  with  her  peculiar  handwriting  in 
the  affair  of  the  lawsuit  in  which  he  had  assisted  her. 
But  Morton  was  not  suspicious.  How  could  he  be 
suspicious  of  one  upon  whom  the  Lord  had  so  mani- 
festly poured  out  his  Spirit?  Besides,  the  suspicious 
view  would  not  have  been  wholly  correct,  since  Ann 
Eliza  did  love  Morton  almost  to  distraction,  and  had 
entertained  the  liveliest  apprehensions  of  his  peril  at 
Salt  Fork. 

But  with  however  much  gratitude  he  might  regard 
Ann  Eliza's  action,  Morton  Goodwin  could  not  quite 
bring  himself  to  decide  on  marriage.  He  could  not 
help  thinking  of  the  morning  when  negro  Bob  had 
discovered  him  talking  to  Patty  by  the  spring-house, 
nor  could  he  help  contrasting  that  strong  love  with 
the  feebleness  of  the  best  affection  he  could  muster  fol 
the  handsome,  pious,  and  effusive  Ann  Eliza  Meacham. 


248  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

But  as  he  proceeded  round  the  circuit  it  became 
more  and  more  evident  to  Morton  that  he  had  suffered 
in  reputation  by  his  cool  treatment  of  Miss  Meacham. 
Elderly  people  love  romance,  and  they  could  not  for- 
give him  for  not  bringing  the  story  out  in  the  way 
they  wished.  They  felt  that  nothing  could  be  so 
appropriate  as  the  marriage  of  a  popular  preacher  with 
so  zealous  a  woman.  It  was  a  shock  to  their  sense  of 
poetic  completeness  that  he  should  thus  destroy  the 
only  fitting  denouement.  So  that  between  people  who 
were  disappointed  at  the  come-out,  and  young  men 
who  were  jealous  of  the  general  popularity  of  the 
youthful  preacher,  Morton's  acceptability  had  visibly 
declined.  Nevertheless  there  was  quite  a  party  of 
young  women  who  approved  of  his  course.  He  had 
found  the  minx  out  at  last ! 

One  of  the  results  of  the  Methodist  circuit  system, 
with  its  great  quarterly  meetings,  was  the  bringing  of 
people  scattered  over  a  wide  region  into  a  sort  of 
organic  unity  and  a  community  of  feeling.  It  widened 
the  horizon.  It  was  a  curious  and,  doubtless,  also  a 
beneficial  thing,  that  over  the  whole  vast  extent  of 
half-civilized  territory  called  Jenkinsville  circuit  there 
was  now  a  common  topic  for  gossip  and  discussion. 
When  Morton  reached  the  very  northernmost  of  his 
forty-nine  preaching  places,  he  had  not  yet  escaped 
from  the  excitement. 

"  Brother  Goodwin,"  said  Sister  Sharp,  as  they  sat 
at  breakfast,  "whatever  folks  may  say,  I  am  sure  you 
had  a  perfect  right  to  give  up  Sister  Meacham.  A 
man  ain't  bound  to  marry  a  girl  when  he  finds  her 


ENGA  CEMENT.  2  4  9> 

out.  /  don't  think  it  would  take  a  smart  man  like 
you  long  to  find  out  that  Sister  Meacham  isn't  all  she 
pretends  to  be.  I  have  heard  some  things  about  her 
standing  in  Pennsylvania.  I  guess  you  found  them 
out." 

"  I  never  meant  to  marry  Sister  Meacham,"  said 
Morton,  as  soon  as  he  could  recover  from  the  shock, 
and  interrupt  the  stream  of  Sister  Sharp's  talk. 

"  Everybody  thought  you  did." 

"  Everybody  was  wrong,  then ;  and  as  for  finding 
out  anything,  I  can  tell  you  that  Sister  Meacham  is,  1 
believe,  one  of  the  best  and  most  useful  Christians  in 
the  world." 

"  That's  what  everybody  thought,"  replied  the  other, 
maliciously,  "  until  you  quit  off  going  with  her  so  sud- 
denly. People  have  thought  different  since." 

This  shot  took  effect.  Morton  could  bear  that 
people  should  slander  him.  But,  behold !  a  crop  of 
slanders  on  Ann  Eliza  herself  was  likely  to  grow  out 
of  his  mistake.  In  the  midst  of  a  most  unheroic  and, 
as  it  seemed  to  him,  contemptible  vacillation  and 
perplexity,  he  came  at  last  to  Mount  Zion  meeting- 
house. It  was  here  that  Ann  Eliza  belonged,  and 
here  he  must  decide  whether  he  would  still  leave  her 
to  suffer  reproach  while  he  also  endured  the  loss  of 
his  own  good  name,  or  make  a  marriage  which,  to 
those  wiser  than  he,  seemed  in  every  way  advisable. 
Ann  Eliza  was  not  at  meeting  on  this  day.  When 
once  the  benediction  was  pronounced,  Goodwin  re- 
solved to  free  himself  from  remorse  and  obloquy  by 
the  only  honorable  course.  He  would  ride  over  to 


250  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

Sister  Sims's,  and  end  the  matter  by  engaging  himself 
to  Ann  Eliza. 

Was  it  some  latent,  half -perception  of  Sister 
Meacham's  true  character  that  made  him  hesitate? 
Or  was  it  that  a  pure-hearted  man  always  shrinks  from 
marriage  w'-hout  love?  He  reined  his  horse  at  the 
road-fork,  and  at  last  took  the  other  path  and  claimed 
the  hospitality  of  the  old  class- leader  of  Mount  Zion 
class,  instead  of  receiving  Sister  Sims's  welcome.  He 
intended  by  this  means  to  postpone  his  decision  till 
afternoon. 

Out  of  the  frying-pan  into  the  fire !  The  leader 
took  Brother  Goodwin  aside  and  informed  him  that 
Sister  Ann  Eliza  was  very  ill.  She  might  never 
recover.  It  was  understood  that  she  was  slowly  dying 
of  a  broken  heart. 

Morton  could  bear  no  more.  To  have  made  so 
faithful  a  person,  who  had  even  interfered  to  save 
his  life,  suffer  in  her  spirit  was  bad  enough;  to  have 
brought  reproach  upon  her,  worse;  to  kill  her  out- 
right was  ingratitude  and  murder.  He  wondered  at 
his  own  stupidity  and  wickedness.  He  rode  in  haste 
to  Sister  Sims*s.  Ann  Eliza,  in  fact,  was  not  dan- 
gerously ill,  and  was  ill  more  of  a  malarious  fever 
than  of  a  broken  heart;  though  her  chagrin  and 
disappointment  had  much  to  do  with  it.  Morton, 
convinced  that  he  was  the  author  of  her  woes,  felt 
more  tenderness  to  her  in  her  emaciation  than  he  had 
ever  felt  toward  her  in  her  beauty.  He  could  not 
profess  a  great  deal  of  love,  so  he  contented  himself 
with  expressing  his  gratitude  for  the  Salt  Fork  warn- 


ENGAGEMENT.  251 

Ing.  Explanations  about  the  past  were  awkward,  but 
fortunately  Ann  Eliza  was  ill  and  ought  not  to  talk 
much  on  exciting  subjects.  Besides,  she  did  not  seem 
to  be  very  exacting.  Morton's  offer  of  marriage  was 
accepted  with  a  readiness  *-hat  annoyed  him.  When 
he  rode  away  to  his  next  appointment,  he  did  not 
feel  so  much  relieved  by  having  done  his  duty  as  he 
had  expected  to.  He  could  not  get  rid  of  a  thought 
that  the  high-spirited  Patty  would  have  resented  an 
offer  of  marriage  under  these  circumstances,  and  on 
such  terms  as  Ann  Eliza  had  accepted.  And  yet,  one 
must  not  expect  all  qualities  in  one  person.  What 
could  be  finer  than  Ann  Eliza's  lustrous  piety?  She 
was  another  Hester  Ann  Rogers,  a  second  Mrs. 
Fletcher,  maybe.  And  how  much  she  must  love  him 
to  pine  away  thus!  And  how  forgiving  she  was! 


CHAPTER   XXVII. 

THE    CAMP    MEETING. 

r  I  ^"HE  incessant  activity  of  a  traveling  preacher's 
JL  life  did  not  allow  Morton  much  opportunity  for 
the  society  of  the  convalescent  Ann  Eliza.  Fortunately. 
For  when  he  was  with  her  out  of  meeting  he^ftmnd 
her  rather  dull.  To  all  expression  of  religious  senti- 
ment and  emotion  she  responded  sincerely  and  with 
unction ;  to  Morton's  highest  aspirations  for  a  life  of 
real  self-sacrifice  she  only  answered  with  a  look  of 
perplexity.  She  could  not  understand  him.  He  was 
"  so  queer,"  she  said. 

But  people  whose  lives  are  joined  ought  to  make 
the  best  of  each  other.  Ann  Eliza  loved  Morton,  and 
because  she  loved  him  she  could  endure  what  seemed 
to  her  an  unaccountable  eccentricity.  If  Goodwin  found 
himself  tempted  to  think  her  lacking  in  some  of  the 
highest  qualities,  he  comforted  himself  with  reflecting 
that  all  women  were  probably  deficient  in  these  regards. 
For  men  generalize  about  women,  not  from  many  but 
from  one.  And  men,  being  egotists,  suffer  a  woman's 
love  for  themselves  to  hide  a  multitude  of  sins.  And 
then  Morton  took  refuge  in  other  people's  opinions. 
Everybody  thought  that  Sister  Meacham  was  just  the 
wife  for  him.  It  is  pleasant  to  have  the  opinion  of 


THE   CAMP  MEETING.  253 

all  the  world  on  your  side  where  your  own  heart  is 
doubtful. 

Sometimes,  alas !  the  ghost  of  an  old  love  flitted 
through  the  mind  of  Morton  Goodwin  and  gave  him 
a  moment  of  fright.  But  Patty  was  one  of  the  things 
of  this  world  which  he  had  solemnly  given  up.  Of  her 
conversion  he  had  not  heard.  Mails  were  few  and 
postage  cost  a  silver  quarter  on  every  letter ;  with 
poor  people,  correspondence  was  an  extravagance  not 
to  be  thought  of  except  on  the  occasion  of  a  death 
or  wedding.  At  farthest,  one  letter  a  year  was  all 
that  might  be  afforded.  As  it  was,  Morton  was  neither 
very  happy  nor  very  miserable  as  he  rode  up  to  the 
New  Canaan  camp-ground  on  a  pleasant  midsummer 
afternoon  with  Ann  Eliza  by  his  side. 

Sister  Meacham  did  not  lack  hospitable  enter- 
tainment. So  earnest  and  gifted  a  Christian  as  she 
was  always  welcome ;  and  now  that  she  held  a  mort- 
gage on  the  popular  preacher  every  tent  on  the  ground 
would  have  been  honored  by  her  presence.  Morton 
found  a  lodging  in  the  preacher's  tent,  where  one  bed, 
'larger,  transversely,  than  that  of  the  giant  Og,  was 
provided  for  the  collective  repose  of  the  preachers,  of 
whom  there  were  half-a-dozen  present.  It  was  always 
a  solemn  mystery  to  me,  by  what  ingenious  over-lapping 
of  sheets,  blankets  and  blue-coverlets  the  sisters  who 
made  this  bed  gave  a  cross-wise  continuity  to  the  bed- 
clothing. 

This  meeting  was  held  just  six  weeks  after  the 
quarterly  meeting  spoken  of  in  the  last  chapter.  Good- 
win's circuit  lay  on  the  west  bank  of  the  Big  Wiaki 


254  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

River,  and  this  camp-meeting  was  held  on  the  east 
bank  of  that  stream. 

It  was  customary  for  all  the  neighboring  preachers 
to  leave  their  circuits  and  lend  their  help  in  a  camp- 
meeting.  All  detached  parties  were  drawn  in  to  make 
ready  for  a  pitched  battle.  Morton  had,  in  his  ringing 
voice,  earnest  delivery,  unfaltering  courage  and  quick 
wit,  rare  qualifications  for  the  rude  campaign,  and, 
as  the  nearest  preacher,  he  was,  of  course,  expected  to 
help. 

The  presiding  elder's  order  to  Kike  to  repair  to 
Jonesville  circuit  had  gone  after  the  zealous  itinerant 
like  "  an  arrow  after  a  wild  goose,"  and  he  had  only 
received  it  in  season  to  close  his  affairs  on  Pottawot- 
tomie  Creek  circuit  and  reach  this  camp-meeting  on 
his  way  to  his  new  work.  His  emaciated  face  smote 
Morton's  heart  with  terror.  The  old  comrade  thought 
that  the  death  which  Kike  all  but  longed  for  could 
not  be  very  far  away.  And  even  now  the  zealous  and 
austere  young  man  was  so  eager  to  reach  his  circuit 
of  Peterborough  that  he  would  only  consent  to  tarry 
long  enough  to  preach  on  the  first  evening.  His  voice 
was  weak,  and  his  appeals  were  often  drowned  in  the 
uproar  of  a  mob  that  had  come  determined  to  make 
an  end  of  the  meeting. 

So  violent  was  the  opposition  of  the  rowdies  from 
Jenkinsville  and  Salt  Fork  that  the  brethren  were 
demoralized.  After  the  close  of  the  service  they  gath- 
ered in  groups  debating  whether  or  not  they  should 
give  up  the  meeting.  But  two  invincible  men  stood 
in  the  pulpit  looking  out  over  the  scene.  Without  a 


THE   CAMP  MEETING.  25S 

thought  of  surrendering,  Magruder  and  Morton  Good- 
win were  consulting  in  regard  to  police  arrangements. 

"  Brother  Goodwin,"  said  Magruder,  "  we  shall  have 
the  sheriff  here  in  the  morning.  I  am  afraid  he  hasn't 
got  back-bone  enough  to  handle  these  fellows.  Do 
you  know  him  ?  " 

"  Burchard  ?  Yes ;  I've  known  him  two  or  three 
years." 

Morton  could  not  help  liking  the  man  who  had  so 
generously  forgiven  his  gambling  debt,  but  he  had 
reason  to  believe  that  a  sheriff  who  went  to  Brewer's 
Hole  to  get  votes  would  find  his  hands  tied  by  his 
political  alliances. 

"  Goodwin,"  said  Magruder,  "  I  don't  know  how  to 
spare  you  from  preaching  and  exhorting,  but  you  must 
take  charge  of  the  police  and  keep  order." 

"  You  had  better  not  trust  me,"  said  Goodwin. 

"  Why  ?  " 

"If  I  am  in  command  there'll  be  a  fight.  I  don't 
believe  in  letting  rowdies  run  over  you.  If  you  put 
me  in  authority,  and  give  me  the  law  to  back  me, 
somebody  '11  be  hurt  before  morning.  The  rowdies 
hate  me  and  I  am  not  fond  of  them.  I've  wanted 
such  a  chance  at  these  Jenkinsville  and  Salt  Fork  fel- 
lows ever  since  I've  been  on  the  circuit." 

"  I  wish  you  would  clean  them  out,"  said  the  sturdy 
old  elder,  the  martial  fire  shining  from  under  his 
shaggy  brows. 

Morton  soon  had  the  brethren  organized  into  a 
police.  Every  man  was  to  carry  a  heavy  club ;  some 
were  armed  with  pistols  to  be  used  in  an  emergency, 


256  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

Part  of  the  force  was  mounted,  part  marched  afoot 
Goodwin  said  that  his  father  had  fought  King  George, 
and  he  would  not  be  ruled  by  a  mob.  By  such  fan- 
nings  of  the  embers  of  revolutionary  patriotism  he 
managed  to  infuse  into  them  some  of  his  own  courage. 

At  midnight  Morton  Goodwin  sat  in  the  pulpit  and 
sent  out  scouts.  Platforms  of  poles,  six  feet  high  and 
covered  with  earth,  stood  on  each  side  of  the  stand 
or  pulpit.  On  these  were  bright  fires  which  threw 
their  light  over  the  whole  space  within  the  circle  of 
tents.  Outside  the  circle  were  a  multitude  of  wagons 
covered  with  cotton  cloth,  in  which  slept  people  from  a 
distance  who  had  no  other  shelter.  In  this  outer 
darkness  Morton,  as  nlilitary  dictator,  had  ordered 
other  platforms  erected,  and  on  these  fires  were  now 
kindling. 

The  returning  scouts  reported  at  midnight  that  the 
ruffians,  seeing  the  completeness  of  the  preparations, 
had  left  the  camp-ground.  Goodwin  was  the  only  man 
who  was  indisposed  to  trust  this  treacherous  truce.  He 
immediately  posted  his  mounted  scouts  farther  away 
than  before  on  every  road  leading  to  the  ground,  with 
instructions  to  let  him  know  instantly,  if  any  body  of 
men  should  be  seen  approaching. 

From  Morton's  previous  knowledge  of  the  people, 
he  was  convinced  that  in  the  mob  were  some  men 
more  than  suspected  of  belonging  to  Micajah  Harp's 
gang  of  thieves.  Others  were  allies  of  the  gang — of  that 
class  which  hesitates  between  a  lawless  disposition  and 
a  wholesome  fear  of  the  law,  but  whose  protection  and 
assistance  is  the  right  foot  upon  which  every  form  of 


THE    CAMP  MEETING.  257 

brigandage  stands.  Besides  these  there  were  the  reck- 
less young  men  who  persecuted  a  camp-meeting  from 
a  love  of  mischief  for  its  own  sake;  men  who  were 
not  yet  thieves,  but  from  whose  ranks  the  bands  of 
thieves  were  recruited.  With  these  last  Morton's  his- 
tory gave  him  a  certain  sympathy.  As  the  classes 
represented  by  the  mob  held  the  balance  of  power 
in  the  politics  of  the  county,  Morton  knew  that  he  had 
not  much  to  hope  from  a  trimmer  such  as  Burchard. 

About  four  o'clock  in  the  morning  one  of  the 
mounted  sentinels  who  had  been  posted  far  down  the 
road  came  riding  in  at  full  speed,  with  intelligence  that 
the  rowdies  were  coming  in  force  from  the  direction 
of  Jenkinsville.  Goodwin  had  anticipated  this,  and  he 
immediately  awakened  his  whole  reserve,  concentrating 
the  scattered  squads  and  setting  them  in  ambush  on 
either  side  of  the  wagon  track  that  led  to  the  camp- 
ground. With  a  dozen  mounted  men  well  armed  with 
clubs,  he  took  his  own  stand  at  a  narrow  place  where 
the  foliage  on  either  side  was  thickest,  prepared  to 
dispute  the  passage  to  the  camp.  The  men  in  am- 
bush had  orders  to  fall  upon  the  enemy's  flanks  as 
soon  as  the  fight  should  begin  in  front.  It  was  a 
simple  piece  of  strategy  learned  of  the  Indians. 

The  marauders  rode  on  two  by  two  until  the  lead- 
ers, coming  round  a  curve,  caught  sight  of  Morton  and 
his  right  hand  man.  Then  there  was  a  surprised  rein- 
ing up  on  the  one  hand,  and  a  sudden  dashing  charge 
on  the  other.  At  the  first  blow  Goodwin  felled  his 
man,  and  the  riderless  horse  ran  backward  through 
the  ranks.  The  mob  was  taken  by  surprise,  and  before 


258  TH£   CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

the  ruffians  could  rally  Morton  uttered  a  cry  to  his 
men  in  the  bushes,  which  brought  an  attack  upon  both 
flanks.  The  rowdies  fought  hard,  but  from  the  begin- 
ning the  victory  of  the  guard  was  assured  by  the 
advantage  of  ambush  and  surprise.  The  only  question 
to  be  settled  was  that  of  capture,  for  Morton  had 
ordered  the  arrest  of  every  man  that  the  guard  could 
bring  in.  But  so  sturdy  was  the  fight  that  only  three 
were  taken.  One  of  the  guard  received  a  bad  flesh 
wound  from  a  pistol  shot.  Goodwin  did  not  give  up 
pursuing  the  retreating  enemy  until  he  saw  them  dash 
into  the  river  opposite  Jenkinsville.  He  then  rode 
back,  and  as  it  was  getting  light  threw  himself  upon 
one  side  of  the  great  bunk  in  the  preachers'  tent,  and 
slept  until  he  was  awakened  by  the  horn  blown  in  the 
pulpit  for  the  eight  o'clock  preaching. 

When  Sheriff  Burchard  arrived  on  the  ground  that 
day  he  was  evidently  frightened  at  the  earnestness  of 
Morton's  defence.  Burchard  was  one  of  those  politi- 
cians who  would  have  endeavored  to  patch  up  a 
compromise  with  a  typhoon.  He  was  in  a  strait 
between  his  fear  of  the  animosity  of  the  mob  and 
his  anxiety  to  please  the  Methodists.  Goodwin,  taking 
advantage  of  this  latter  feeling,  got  himself  appointed 
a  deputy-sheriff,  and,  going  before  a  magistrate,  he 
secured  the  issuing  of  writs  for  the  arrest  of  those 
whom  he  knew  to  be  leaders.  Then  he  summoned 
his  guard  as  a  posse,  and,  having  thus  put  law  on  his 
side,  he  announced  that  if  the  ruffians  came  again 
the  guard  must  follow  him  until  they  were  entirely 
subdued. 


THE   CAMP  MEETING.  259 

Burchard  took  him  aside,  and  warned  him  sol- 
emnly that  such  extreme  measures  would  cost  his  life. 
Some  of  these  men  belonged  to  Harp's  band,  and  he 
would  not  be  safe  anywhere  if  he  made  enemies  of 
the  gang.  "  Don't  throw  away  your  life,"  entreated 
Burchard. 

"That's  what  life  is  for,"  said  Morton.  "If  a 
man's  life  is  too  good  to  throw  away  in  fighting  the 
devil,  it  isn't  worth  having."  Goodwin  said  this  in  a 
way  that  made  Burchard  ashamed  of  his  own  coward- 
ice. But  Kike,  who  stood  by  ready  to  depart,  could 
not  help  thinking  that  if  Patty  were  in  place  of  Ann 
Eliza,  Morton  might  think  life  good  for  something 
else  than  to  be  thrown  away  in  a  fight  with  rowdies. 

As  there  was  every  sign  of  an  approaching  riot 
during  the  evening  service,  and  as  no  man  could 
manage  the  tempest  so  well  as  Brother  Goodwin, 
he  was  appointed  to  preach.  A  young  theologian  of 
the  present  day  would  have  drifted  helpless  on  the 
waves  of  such  a  mob.  When  one  has  a  congregation 
that  listens  because  it  ought  to  listen,  one  can  afford 
to  be  prosy;  but  an  audience  that  will  only  listen 
when  it  is  compelled  to  listen  is  the  best  discipline 
the  world  for  an  orator.  It  will  teach  him  methods  of 
homiletic  arrangement  which  learned  writers  on  Sacred 
Rhetoric  have  never  dreamed  of. 

The  disorder  had  already  begun  when  Morton  Good- 
win's tall  figure  appeared  in  the  stand.  Frontier-men 
are  very  susceptible  to  physical  effects,  and  there  was 
a  clarion-like  sound  to  Morton's  voice  well  calculated 
to  impress  them.  Goodwin  enjoyed  battle;  every  powei 


en 
in 


260  THE    CIRCUIT   RIDER. 

of  his  mind  and  body  was  at  its  best  in  the  presence 
of  a  storm.  He  knew  better  than  to  take  a  text.  He 
must  surprise  the  mob  into  curiosity. 

"  There  is  a  man  standing  back  in  the  crowcj 
there,"  he  began,  pointing  his  finger  in  a  certain 
direction  where  there  was  much  disorder,  and  pausing 
until  everybody  was  still,  "  who  reminds  me  of  a  funny 
story  I  once  heard."  At  this  point  the  turbulent  sons 
of  Belial,  who  loved  nothing  so  much  as  a  funny 
story,  concluded  to  postpone  their  riot  until  they 
should  have  their  laugh.  Laugh  they  did,  first  at  one 
funny  story,  and  then  at  another — stories  with  no 
moral  in  particular,  except  the  moral  there  is  in  a 
laugh.  Brother  Mellen,  who  sat  behind  Morton,  and 
who  had  never  more  than  half  forgiven  him  for  not 
coming  to  a  bad  end  as  the  result  of  disturbing  a 
meeting,  was  greatly  shocked  at  Morton's  levity  in  the 
pulpit,  but  Magruder,  the  presiding  elder,  was  de- 
lighted. He  laughed  at  each  story,  and  laughed  loud 
enough  for  Goodwin  to  hear  and  appreciate  the 
senior's  approval  of  his  drollery.  But  somehow — the 
crowd  did  not  know  how, — at  some  time  in  his  dis- 
course— the  Salt  Fork  rowdies  did  not  observe  when,— 
Morton  managed  to  cease  his  drollery  without  detec- 
tion, and  to  tell  stories  that  brought  tears  instead  of 
laughter.  The  mob  was  demoralized,  and,  by  keeping 
!  their  curiosity  perpetually  excited,  Goodwin  did  not 
give  them  time  to  rally  at  all.  Whenever  an  inter- 
ruption was  attempted,  the  preacher  would  turn  the 
ridicule  of  the  audience  upon  the  interlocutor,  and  so 
gain  the  sympathy  of  the  rough  crowd  who  were 


THE   CAMP  MEETING.  261 

habituated  to  laugh  on  the  side  of  the  winner  in  all 
rude  tournaments  of  body  or  mind.  Knowing  per- 
fectly well  that  he  would  have  to  fight  before  the 
"nighT  was  over,  Morton's  mind  was  stimulated  to  its' 
utmost.  If  only  he  could  get  the  religious  interest 
agoing,  he  might  save  some  of  these  men  instead  of 
punishing  them.  His  soul  yearned  over  the  people. 
His  oratory  at  last  swept  out  triumphant  over  every- 
thing; there  was  weeping  and  sobbing;  some  fell  in 
uttering  cries  of  anguish;  others  ran  away  in  terror. 
Even  Burchard  shivered  with  emotion  when  Morton 
described  how,  step  by  step,  a  young  man  was  led 
from  bad  to  worse,  and  then  recited  his  own  experi- 
ence. At  last  there  was  the  utmost  excitement.  As 
soon  as  this  hurricane  of  feeling  had  reached  the 
point  of  confusion,  the  rioters  broke  the  spell  of  Mor- 
ton's speech  and  began  their  disturbance.  Goodwin 
immediately  invited  the  penitents  into  the  enclosed 
pen-like  place  called  the  altar,  and  the  whole  space 
was  filled  with  kneeling  mourners,  whose  cries  and 
groans  made  the  woods  resound.  But  at  the  same 
moment  the  rioters  increased  their  noisy  demonstra- 
tions, and  Morton,  finding  Burchard  inefficient  to  quell 
them,  descended  from  the  pulpit  and  took  command 
of  his  camp-meeting  police. 

Perhaps  the  mob  would  not  have  secured  headway 
enough  to  have  necessitated  the  severest  measures  if 
it  had  not  been  for  Mr.  Mellen.  As  soon  as  he 
detected  the  rising  storm  he  felt  impelled  to  try  the 
effect  of  his  stentorian  voice  in  quelling  it.  He  did 
not  ask  permission  of  the  presiding  elder,  as  he  was  in 


262  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

duty  bound  to  do,  but  as  soon  as  there  was  a  pause  in 
the  singing  he  began  to  exhort.  His  style  was  violently 
aggressive,  and  only  served  to  provoke  the  mob.  He 
began  with  the  true  old  Homeric  epithets  of  early 
Methodism,  exploding  them  like  bomb-shells.  "You 
are  hair-hung  and  breeze-shaken  over  hell,"  he  cried. 

"  You  don't  say !  "  responded  one  of  the  rioters,  to 
the  infinite  amusement  of  the  rest. 

For  five  minutes  Mellen  proceeded  to  drop  this  kind 
of  religious  aqua  for- 
tis  upon  the  turbulent 
crowd,  which  grew 
more  and  more  tur- 
bulent under  his  in- 
flammatory treatment. 
Finding  himself  like- 
ly to  be  defeated,  he 
turned  toward  Good- 
win and  demanded 
that  the  camp-meet- 
ing police  should 
enforce  order.  But 
Morton  was  contem- 
plating a  master- 

,          ,  ,       ,  ,       "  HAIR-HUNG  AND  BREEZE-SHAKEN." 

stroke     that     should 

annihilate  the  disorder  in  one  battle,  and  he  was  not  to 
be  hurried  into  too  precipitate  an  attack. 

Brother  Mellen  resumed  his  exhortation,  and,  as 
small  doses  of  nitric-acid  had  not  allayed  the  irrita- 
tion, he  thought  it  necessary  to  administer  stronger 
ones.  "  You'll  go  to  hell,"  he  cried,  "  and  when  you 


THE  CAMP  MEETING.  263 

get  there  your  ribs  will  be  nothing  but  a  gridiron  to 
roast  your  souls  in  I  " 

"  Hurrah  for  the  gridiron  / "  cried  the  unappalled 
ruffians,  and  Brother  Mellen  gave  up  the  fight,  reproach- 
ing Morton  hotly  for  not  suppressing  the  mob.  "  I 
thought  you  was  a  man,"  he  said. 

"They'll  get  enough  of  it  before  daylight,"  said 
Goodwin,  savagely.  "  Do  you  get  a  club  and  ride  by 
my  side  to-night,  Brother  Mellen ;  I  am  sure  you  are  a 
man." 

Mellen  went  for  his  horse  and  club,  grumbling  all 
the  while  at  Morton's  tardiness. 

"  Where's  Burchard  ?  "  cried  Morton. 

But  Burchard  could  not  be  found,  and  Morton  felt 
internal  maledictions  at  Burchard's  cowardice. 

Goodwin  had  given  orders  that  his  scouts  should 
report  to  him  the  first  attempt  at  concentration  on  the 
part  of  the  rowdies.  He  had  not  been  deceived  by 
their  feints  in  different  parts  of  the  camp,  but  had 
drawn  his  men  together.  He  knew  that  there  was  some 
^directing  head  to  the  mob,  and  that  the  only  effectual 
way  to  beat  it  was  to  beat  it  in  solid  form. 

At  last  a  young  man  came  running  to  where  Good- 
win stood,  saying :  "  They're  tearing  down  a  tent." 

"  The  fight  will  be  there,"  said  Morton,  mounting 
deliberately.  "  Catch  all  you  can,  boys.  Don't  shoot 
if  you  can  help  it.  Keep  close  together.  We  have 
got  to  ride  all  night." 

He  had  increased  his  guard  by  mustering  in  every 
able-bodied  man,  except  such  as  were  needed  to  con- 
duct the  meetings.  Most  of  these  men  were  Methodists, 


264  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

but  they  were  all  frontiermen  who  knew  that  peace  and 
civilization  have  often  to  be  won  by  breaking  heads. 
By  the  time  this  guard  started  the  camp  was  in  extreme 
confusion ;  women  were  running  in  every  direction, 
children  were  crying  and  men  were  stoutly  denouncing 
Goodwin  for  his  tardiness. 

Dividing  his  mounted  guard  of  thirty  men  into  two 
parts,  he  sent  one  half  round  the  outside  of  the  camp- 
ground in  one  direction,  while  he  rode  with  the  other 
to  attack  the  mob  on  the  other  side.  The  foot-police 
were  sent  through  the  circle  to  attack  them  in  a  third 
direction. 

As  Morton  anticipated,  his  delay  tended  to  throw 
the  mob  off  their  guard.  They  had  demolished  one 
tent  and,  in  great  exultation,  had  begun  on  another, 
when  Morton's  cavalry  rode  in  upon  them  on  two  sides, 
dealing  heavy  and  almost  deadly  blows  with  their  iron- 
wood  and  hickory  clubs.  Then  the  footmen  charged 
them  in  front,  and  the  mob  were  forced  to  scatter  and 
mount  the.ir  horses  as  best  they  could.  As  Morton  had 
captured  some  of  them,  the  rest  rallied  on  horseback 
and  attempted  a  rescue.  For  two  or  three  minutes 
the  fight  was  a  severe  one.  The  roughs  made  several 
rushes  upon  Morton,  and  nothing  but  the  savage 
blows  that  Mellen  laid  about  him  saved  the  leader 
from  falling  into  their  hands.  At  last,  however,  after 
firing  several  shots,  and  wounding  one  of  the  guard,  they 
retreated,  Goodwin  vigorously  persuading  his  men  to 
continue  the  charge.  When  the  rowdies  had  been  driven 
a  short  distance,  Morton  saw  by  the  light  of  a  platform 
torch,  the  same  strangely  dressed  man  who  had  taken 


THE   CAMP  MEETING.  265 

the  money  from  his  hand  that  day  near  Brewer's  Hole. 
This  man,  in  his  disguise  of  long  beard  and  wolf-skin 
cap,  was  trying  to  get  past  Mellen  and  into  the  camp 
by  creeping  through  the  bushes. 

"  Knock  him  over,"  shouted  Goodwin  to  Mellen* 
"I  know  him— he's  a  thief." 

No  sooner  said  than  Mellen's  club  had  felled  him, 
and  but  for  the  intervening  brush-wood,  which  broke 
the  force  of  the  blow,  it  might  have  killed  him. 

"Carry  him  back  and  lock  him  up,"  said  Morton 
to  his  men ;  but  the  other  side  now  made  a  strong 
rush  and  bore  off  the  fallen  highwayman. 

Then  they  fled,  and  this  time,  letting  the  less 
guilty  rowdies  escape,  Morton  pursued  the  well- 
known  thieves  and  their  allies  into  and  through  Jen- 
kinsville,  and  on  through  the  country,  until  the  hunted 
fellows  abandoned  their  horses  and  fled  to  the  woods 
on  foot.  For  two  days  more  Morton  harried  them, 
arresting  one  of  them  now  and  then  until  he  had  cap- 
tured eight  or  ten.  He  chased  one  of  these  into 
Brewer's  Hole  itself.  The  shoes  had  been  torn  from 
his  feet  by  briers  in  his  rough  flight,  and  he  left 
tracks  of  blood  upon  the  floor.  The  orderly  citizens 
of  the  county  were  so  much  heartened  by  this  boldness 
and  severity  on  Morton's  part  that  they  combined 
against  the  roughs  and  took  the  work  into  their  own 
hands,  driving  some  of  the  thieves  away  and  terrifying 
the  rest  into  a  sullen  submission.  The  camp-meeting 
went  on  in  great  triumph. 

Burchard  had  disappeared  —  how,  nobody  knew. 
Weeks  afterward  a  stranger  passing  through  Jenkins* 


266  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

ville  reported  that  he  had  seen  such  a  man  on  a  keel- 
boat  leaving  Cincinnati  for  the  lower  Mississippi,  and 
it  soon  came  to  be  accepted  that  Burchard  had  found 
a  home  in  New  Orleans,  that  refuge  of  broken  adven- 
turers. Why  he  had  fled  no  one  could  guess. 


CHAPTER    XXVII2. 

PATTY    AND    HER    PATIENT. 

WE  left  Patty  standing  irresolute  in  the  road. 
The  latch-string  of  her  father's  house  was 
drawn  in ;  she  must  find  another  home.  Every 
Methodist  cabin  would  be  open  to  her,  of  course ; 
Colonel  Wheeler  would  be.  only  too  glad  to  receive 
her.  But  Colonel  Wheeler  and  all  the  Methodist  peo- 
ple were  openly  hostile  to  her  father,  and  delicacy  for- 
bade her  allying  herself  so  closely  with  her  father's 
foes.  She  did  not  want  to  foreclose  every  door  to  a 
reconciliation.  Mrs.  Goodwin's  was  not  to  be  thought 
of.  There  was  but  one  place,  and  that  was  with  Kike's 
mother,  the  widow  Lumsden,  who,  as  a  relative,  was 
naturally  her  first  resort  in  exile. 

Here  she  found  a  cordial  welcome,  and  here  she 
found  the  schoolmaster,  still  attentive  to  the  widow, 
though  neither  he  nor  she  dared  think  of  marriage 
with  Kike's  awful  displeasure  in  the  back-ground. 

"Well,  well,"  said  Brady,  when  the  homeless  Patty 
had  received  permission  to  stay  in  the  cabin  of  her 
aunt-in-law  :  "  Well,  well,  how  sthrange  things  comes  to 
pass,  Miss  Lumsden.  You  turned  Moirton  off  yersilf 
fer  bein'  a  Mithodis'  and  now  ye're  the  one  that  gits 
isint  adrift."  Then,  half  musingly,  he  added  :  "  I  wish 


268  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

Moirton  noo,  now  don't  oi  ?  Revinge  is  swate,  and 
this  sort  of  revinge  would  be  swater  on  many  ac- 
counts." 

The  helpless  Patty  could  say  nothing,  and  Brady 
looked  out  of  the  window  and  continued,  in  a  sort  of 
soliloquy :  4k  Moirton  would  be  that  ^lad.  Ha !  ha ! 
He'd  say  the  divil  niver  sarved  him  a  better  thrick 
than  by  promptm'  the  Captin  to  turn  ye  out.  It'll 
simplify  matters  fer  Moirton.  A  sum's  aisier  to  do 
when  its  simplified,  ]oike.  An'  now  it'll  be  as  aisy  to 
Hoirtnn  when  he  hears  about  it*  as  twice  one  is  two— 
ts  sf  pie  as  puttin'  two  halves  togither  to  make  a 
umt/'  Here  the  master  rubbed  his  hands  in  glee. 
He  was  pleased  with  the  success  of  his  illustration. 
Then  he  muttered  :  **  They'll  agree  in  ginder,  number 
and  parson ! " 

*'  Mr.  Brady,  I  don't  think  you  ought  to  make  fun 
Of  me." 

"  Make  fun  of  ye !  Bliss  yer  dair  little  heart,  it  aint 
in  yer  ould  schoolmasther  to  make  fun  of  ye,  whin  ye've 
done  yer  dooty.  1  was  only  throym'  to  congratilate 
ye  on  how  aisy  Moirton  would  conjugate  the  whole 
thing  whin  he  hears  about  it." 

44  Now,  Mr.  Brady,"  said  Patty,  drawing  herself  up 
with  her  old  pride,  *4 1  know  there  will  be  those  who 
will  say  that  I  joined  the  church  to  get  Morton  back. 
I  want  you  to  say  that  Morton  is  to  be  married — was 
probably  married  to-day — and  that  I  knew  of  it  som* 
days  ago." 

Brady's  countenance  fell.  4*  Things  niver  ixime  out 
roight,"  he  said,  as  he  absently  put  on  his  hat.  "  They 


PATTY  AND  HER  PATIENT.  269* 

talk  about  spicial  providinces."  he  soliloquized,  as  he 
walked  away,  "and  I  thought  as  I  had  caught  one  at 
last.  But  it  does  same  sometoimes  as  if  a  bluntherin 
Oirishman  loike  mesilf  could  turn  the  univarse  better 
if  he  had  aholt  of  the  stairin'  oar.  But,  psha !  Oi've 
only  got  one  or  two  pets  of  me  own  to  look  afther. 
God  has  to  git  husbands  fer  ivery  woman  ixcipt  the  old 
maids.  An'  some  women  has  to  have  two,  of  which  I 
hope  is  the  Widdy  Lumsden !  But  Mithodism  upsets 
ivery  thing.  Koike's  so  religious  that  he  can't  love 
anybody  but  God,  and  he  don't  know  how  to  pity  thim 
that  does.  And  Koike's  made  us  both  mortally  afeard 
of  his  goodness.  I  wish  he'd  fall  dead  in  love  himself 
once ;  thin  he'd  know  how  it  fales !  " 

Patty  soon  found  that  her  father  could  not  brook 
her  presence  in  the  neighborhood,  and  that  the  widow's 
hospitality  to  her  was  resented  as  an  act  of  hostility  to 
him.  She  accordingly  set  herself  to  find  some  means 
of  getting  away  from  the  neighborhood,  and  at  the 
same  time  of  earning  her  living. 

Happily,  at  this  moment  came  presiding  elder  Ma- 
Cruder  to  a  quarterly  meeting  on  the  circuit  to  which 
Hissawachee  belonged,  and,  hearing  of  Patty's  case,  he 
proposed  to  get  her  employment  as  a  teacher.  He  had 
heard  that  a  teacher  was  wanted  in  the  neighborhood 
of  the  Hickory  Ridge  church,  where  the  conference 
had  met.  So  Patty  was  settled  as  a  teacher.  For  ten 
hours  a  day  she  showed  children  how  to  "do  sums,1 
heard  their  lessons  in  Lindley  Murray,  listened  to  them 
droning  through  the  moralizing  poems  in  the  "  Didactic  * 
department  of  the  old  English  Reader,  and  taughj 


THE    CIRCUIT   RIDER. 

them  spelling  from  the  "  a-b  abs  "  to  "  in-com-pre-hen 
rii-bil-i-ty  "    and    us   octopedai   companions.     And   she 
boarded    round,    but    Dr.    Morgan,    the    Presbyterian 
ex-minister,    wnen    he    learned    that    she    was    Kike's 
cousin,  and   A   sufferer    lor    her    religion,    insisted    tha» 


SCHOOI^-WISTR&SS  or  HICKORY 

t-er  Sundays  should  be  passed  tn  his  house  /\nO 
l>eing  almost  as  much  a  pastor  as  a  doctor  among  t:i<? 
people,  he  soon  tound  Patty  a  rare  helper  in  his  labor* 
among  tfie  Poor  and  The  sick.  Something  of 


PATTY  AND  HER  PAT2ENT.  271 

breeding  and  refinement  there  was  in  her  manner  that 
made  her  seem  a  being  above  the  poor  North  Caro- 
linans  who  had  moved  into  the  hollows,  and  her 
kindness  was  all  the  more  grateful  on  account  of  hex 
dignity.  She  was  "a  grand  lady,"  they  declared,  and 
besides  was  "  a  kinder  sorter  angel,  like,  ye  know,  in 
her  way  of  tendin'  folks  what's  sick."  They  loved  to 
tell  how  "she  nussed  Bill  Turner's  wife  through  the 
awfulest  spell  of  the  yaller  janders  you  ever  seed ; 
an*  toted  Miss  Cole's  baby  roun*  all  night  the  night 
her  ole  man  was  fetch  home  shot  through  the  arm 
with  his  own  good-fer-nothin'  keerlessness.  She's  bet- 
ter'n  forty  doctors,  root  or  calomile." 

One  day  Doctor  Morgan  called  at  the  school-house 
door  just  as  the  long  spelling-class  had  broken  up, 
and  Patty  was  getting  ready  to  send  the  children  home. 
The  doctor  sat  on  his  horse  while  each  of  the  boys, 
with  hat  in  one  hand  and  dinner-basket  in  the  other, 
walked  to  the  door,  and,  after  the  fashion  of  those  good 
old  days,  turned  round  and  bowed  awkwardly  at  the 
teacher.  Some  bobbed  their  heads  forward  on  their 
breasts ;  some  jerked  them  sidewise ;  some,  more  re- 
spectful, bent  their  bodies  into  crescents.  Each 
seemed  alike  glad  when  he  was  through  with  this 
abominable  bit  of  ceremony,  the  only  bit  of  ceremony 
in  the  whole  round  of  their  lives.  The  girls,  in  short 
linsey  dresses,  with  copperas -dyed  cotton  pantalettes, 
came  after,  dropping  "  curcheys  "  in  a  style  that  would 
have  bewildered  a  dancing-master. 

**  Miss  Lumsden,"  said  the  doctor,  when  the  teachei 
appeared,  **  I  am   sorry  to  see   you  so  tired.     I  want 


272  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

you  to  go  home  with  me.  I  have  some  work  for  you 
to  do  to-morrow." 

There  were  no  buggies  in  that  day.  The  roads 
were  mostly  bridle-paths,  and  those  that  would  admit 
wagons  would  have  shaken  a  buggy  to  pieces.  Patty 
climbed  upon  a  fence-corner,  and  the  doctor  rode  as 
close  as  possible  to  the  fence  where  she  stood.  Then 
she  dropped  upon  the  horse  behind  him,  and  the  two 
rode  off  together. 

Doctor  Morgan  explained  to  Patty  that  a  strange 
man  was  lying  wounded  at  the  house  of  a  family 
named  Barkins,  on  Higgins's  Run.  The  man  refused 
to  give  his  name,  and  the  family  would  not  tell  what 
they  knew  about  him.  As  Barkins  bore  a  bad  reputa- 
tion, it  was  quite  likely  that  the  stranger  belonged  to 
some  band  of  thieves  who  lived  by  horse-stealing  and 
plundering  emigrants.  He  seemed  to  be  in  great  men- 
tal anguish,  but  evidently  distrusted  the  doctor.  The 
doctor  therefore  wished  Patty  to  spend  Saturday  at 
Barkins's,  and  do  what  she  could  for  the  patient.  "  It 
is  our  business  to  do  the  man  good,"  said  Doctor 
Morgan,  "  not  to  have  him  arrested.  Gospel  is  always 
better  than  Law." 

On  Saturday  morning  the  doctor  had  a  horse  sad- 
dled with  a  side-saddle  for  Patty,  and  he  and  she  rode 
to  Higgins's  Hollow,  a  desolate,  rocky  glen,  where  once 
lived  a  noted  outlaw  from  whom  the  hollow  took  its 
name,  and  where  now  resided  a  man  who  was  sus- 
pected of  giving  much  indirect  assistance  to  the  gangs 
of  thieves  that  infested  the  country,  though  he  was  to<? 
lame  to  be  actively  engaged  in  any  bold  enterprises. 


PATTY  AND  HER  PATIENT.  27S 

Barkins  nodded  his  head  in  a  surly  fashion  at  Patty 
as  she  crossed  the  threshold,  and  Mrs.  Barkins,  a 
square-shouldered,  raw-boned  woman,  looked  half  in- 
clined to  dispute  the  passage  of  any  woman  over  her 
door-sill.  Patty  felt  a  shudder  of  fear  go  through  her 
frar^e  at  the  thought  of  staying  in  such  a  place  all 
day;  but  Doctor  Morgan  had  an  authoritative  way 
with  such  people.  When  called  to  attend  a  patient, 
he  put  the  whole  house  under  martial  law. 

"Mrs.  Barkins,  I  hope  our  patient's  better.  He 
needs  a  good  deal  done  for  him  to-day,  and  I  brought 
the  school-mistress  to  help  you,  knowing  you  had  a 
houseful  of  children  and  plenty  of  work." 

"I've  got  a  powerful  sight  to  do,  Doctor  Morgan, 
but  you  had  orter  know'd  better'n  to  fetch  a  school- 
miss  in  to  spy  out  a  body's  housekeepin'  'thout  givin' 
folks  half  a  chance  to, afresh  up  a  little.  I  'low  she 
haint  never  lived  in  no  holler,  in  no  log-house  weth 
ten  of  the  wust  childern  you  ever  seed  and  a  decrep- 
pled  ole  man."  She  sulkily  brushed  off  a  stool  with 
her  apron  and  offered  it  to  Patty.  But  Patty,  with 
quick  tact,  laid  her  sunbonnet  on  the  bed,  and,  while 
the  doctor  went  into  the  only  other  room  of  the  house 
to  see  the  patient,  she  seized  upon  the  woman's  dish- 
towel  and  went  to  wiping  the  yellow  crockery  as  Mrs. 
Barkins  washed  it,  and  to  prevent  the  crabbed  remon- 
strance which  that  lady  had  ready,  she  began  to  tell 
how  she  had  tried  to  wipe  dishes  when  she  was  little, 
and  how  she  had  upset  the  table  and  spilt  everything 
on  the  floor.  She  looked  into  Mrs.  Barkins's  face  with 
so  much  friendly  confidence,  her  laugh  had  so  much 


274  THE    CIRCUIT   RIDER. 

assurance  of  Mrs.  Barkins's  concurrence  in  it,  that  the 
square  visage  relaxed  a  little,  and  the  woman  pro- 
ceeded to  show  her  increasing  friendliness  by  boxing 
*  Jane  Marier  "  for  *4  stan'in'  too  closte  to  the  lady  and 
starrin  at  her  that  a-way." 

Just  then  the  doctor  opened  the  squeaky  door  and 
beckoned  to  Patty, 

"  J  ve  brought  you  the  only  medicine  that  will  do 
you  any  good,"  he  said,  rapidly,  to  the  sick  man. 
"  This  is  Miss  Lumsden,  our  school-mistress,  and  the 
best  hand  in  sickness  you  ever  saw.  She  will  stay 
with  you  an  hour." 

The  patient  turned  his  wan  face  over  and  looked 
wearily  at  Patty.  He  seemed  to  be  a  man  of  forty, 
hut  suffering  and  his  unshorn  beard  had  given  him 
a  haggard  look,  and  he  might  be  ten  years  younger. 
He  had  evidently  ;ome  gentlemanly  instincts,  for  he 
looked  about  the  room  for  a  seat  for  Patty.  "  I'll  take 
care  of  myself,"  said  Patty,  cheerfully — seeing  his  anx- 
ious desire  to  be  polite. 

**  I  will  write  down  some  directions  for  you,"  said 
Dr.  Morgan,  taking  out  pencil  and  paper.  When  he 
handed  the  directions  to  Patty  they  read : 

**  I  leave  you  a  lamb  among  wolves.  But  the  Shep- 
herd is  here !  It  is  the  only  chance  to  save  the  poor 
fellow's  life  or  his  soul.  I  will  send  Nettie  over  in  an 
hour  with  jelly,  and  if  you  want  to  come  home  with 
her  you  can  do  so.  I  will  stop  at  noon." 

With  that  he  bade  her  good-bye  and  was  $one. 
Patty  put  the  room  in  order,  wiped  off  the  sick  man's 
temples,  and  he  soon  fell  into  a  sleep.  When  he  awoke 


PATTY    AND  HER  PATIENT.  275 

she  again  wiped  his  face  with  cold  water.  "  My  mother 
used  to  do  that,"  he  said. 

"  Is  she  dead  ?  "  asked  Patty,  reverently. 

"  I  think  not.  I  have  been  a  bad  man,  and  it  is  a 
wonder  that  I  didn't  break  her  heart.  I  would  like  to 
see  her!" 

"  Where  is  she  ?  "  asked  Patty. 

The  patient  looked  at  her  suspiciously :  "  What's 
the  use  of  bringing  my  disgrace  home  to  her  door  ?  " 
he  said. 

"  But  I  think  she  would  bear  your  disgrace  and 
everything  else  for  the  sake  of  wiping  your  face  as  I 
do." 

"I  believe  she  would,"  said  the  wounded  man, 
tremulously.  "  I  would  like  to  go  to  her,  and  ever 
since  I  came  away  I  have  meant  to  go  as  soon  as  I 
could  get  in  the  way  of  doing  better.  But  I  get  worse 
all  the  time.  I'll  soon  be  dead  now,  and  I  don't  care 
how  soon.  The  sooner  the  better ;  "  and  he  sighed 
wearily. 

Patty  had  the  tact  not  to  contradict  him. 

"  Did  your  mother  ever  read  to  you  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes ;  she  used  to  read  the  Bible  on  Sundays  and 
i  used  to  run  away  to  keep  from  hearing  it.  I'd  give 
everything  to  hear  her  read  now." 

"Shall  I  read  to  you?" 

"  If  you  please." 

"  Shall  I  read  your  mother's  favorite  chapter  ?  * 
said  Patty. 

"  How  do  you  know  which  that  is  ? — I  don't ! " 

"  Don't  you  think  one  woman  knows  how  another 


276  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

woman  feels  ?  "  asked  Patty.  And  she  sat  by  the  little 
four-light  window  and  took  out  her  pocket  Testament 
and  read  the  three  immortal  parables  in  the  fifteenth 
of  Luke.  The  man's  curiosity  was  now  wide  awake ; 
he  listened  to  the  story  of  the  sheep  lost  and  found, 
but  when  Patty  glanced  at  his  face,  it  was  unsatisfied ; 
he  hearkened  to  the  story  of  the  coin  that  was  lost 
and  found,  and  still  he  looked  at  her  with  faint  eager- 
ness, as  if  trying  to  guess  why  she  should  call  that  his 
mother's  favorite  chapter.  Then  she  read  slowly,  and 
with  sincere  emotion,  that  truest  of  fictions,  the  tale 
of  the  prodigal  son  and  his  hunger,  and  his  good  reso- 
lution, and  his  tattered  return,  and  the  old  father's  joy. 
And  when  she  looked  up,  his  eyes  tightly  closed  could 
not  hide  his  tears. 

"  Do  you  think  that  is  her  favorite  chapter  ?  "  he 
asked, 

"  Of  course  it  must  be,"  said  Patty,  conclusively. 
"  And  you'll  notice  that  this  prodigal  son  didn't  wait 
to  make  himself  better,  or  even  until  he  could  get  a 
new  suit  of  clothes." 

The  sick  man  said  nothing. 

The  raw-boned  Mrs  Barkins  came  to  the  door  at 
that  moment  and  said : 

"  The  doctor's  gal's  out  yer  and  want's  to  see 
you." 

"  You  wont  go  away  yet  ? "  asked  the  patient, 
anxiously. 

"  I'll  stay,"  said  Patty,  as  she  left  the  room. 

Nettie,  with  her  fresh  face  and  dimpled  cheeks, 
was  standing  timidly  at  the  outside  door.  Patty  took 


PATTY  AND  HER  PATIENT.  277 

the  jelly  from  her  hand  and  sent  a  note  to  the  Doc- 
tor: 

"  The  patient  is  doing  well  every  way,  and  I  am  IF 
the  safest  place  in  the  world — doing  my  duty." 

And  when  the  doctor  read  it  he  said,  in  his  nenr« 
ously  abrupt  fashion:  "Perfect  angel!" 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 
PATTY'S  JOURNEY. 

EVEN  wounds  and  bruises  heal  more  rapidly  when 
the  heart  is  cheered,  and  as  Patty,  after  spend- 
ing Saturday  and  Sunday  with  the  patient,  found  time 
to  come  in  and  give  him  his  breakfast  every  morning 
before  she  went  to  school,  he  grew  more  and  more 
cheerful,  and  the  doctor  announced  in  his  sudden  style 
that  he'd  "get  along."  In  all  her  interviews  Patty 
was  not  only  a  woman  but  a  Methodist.  She  read 
the  Bible  and  talked  to  the  man  about  repentance ; 
and  she  would  not  have  been  a  Methodist  of  that  day 
had  she  neglected  to  pray  with  him.  She  could  not 
penetrate  hir  reserve.  She  could  not  guess  whether 
what  she  said  had  r  iy  influence  on  him  or  not.  Once 
she  was  startled  and  lost  faith  in  any  good  result  of 
her  labors  when  she  happened,  in  arranging  things 
about  the  room,  to  come  upon  a  hideous  wolf-skin  cap 
and  some  heavy  false-whiskers.  She  had  more  than 
suspected  all  along  that  her  patient  was  a  highway- 
man, but  upon  seeing  the  very  disguises  in  which  his 
crimes  had  been  committed,  she  shuddered,  and  asked 
herself  whether  a  man  so  hardened  that  he  was  capably 
of  theft — perhaps  of  murder — could  ever  be  any  better. 
She  found  herself,  after  that,  trying  to  imagine  how 


PATTY'S  JOURNEY.  279 

the  wounded  man  would  look  in  so  fierce  a  mask. 
But  she  soon  remembered  all  that  she  had  learned  of 
the  Methodist  faith  in  the  power  of  the  Divine  Spirit 
working  in  the  worst  of  sinners,  and  she  got  her  tes- 
tament and  read  aloud  to  the  highwayman  the  story 
of  the  crucified  thief. 

It  was  on  Thursday  morning,  as  she  helped  him 
take  his  breakfast — he  was  sitting  propped  up  in  bed 
—that  he  startled  her  most  effectually.  Lifting  his 
eyes,  and  looking  straight  at  her  with  the  sort  of  stare 
that  comes  of  feebleness,  he  asked : 

"  Did  you  ever  know  a  young  Methodist  circuit 
rider  named  Goodwin  ?  " 

Patty  thought  that  he  was  penetrating  her  secret. 
She  turned  away  to  hide  her  face,  and  said : 

"  I  used  to  go  to  school  with  him  when  we  were 
children." 

"  I  heard  him  preach  a  sermon  awhile  ago,"  said 
the  patient,  "  that  made  me  tremble  all  over.  He's  a 
great  preacher.  I  wish  I  was  as  good  as  he  is." 

Patty  made  some  remark  about  his  having  been  a 
good  boy. 

"Well,  I  don't  know,"  said  the  patient;  "I  used 
to  hear  that  he  had  been  a  little  hard — swore  and 
drank  and  gambled,  to  say  nothing  of  dancing  and 
betting  on  horses.  But  they  said  some  girl  jilted  him 
in  that  day.  I  suppose  he  got  into  bad  habits  because 
she  jilted  him,  or  else  she  jilted  him  because  he  was 
bad.  Do  you  know  anything  about  it  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  She's  a  heartless  thing,  I  suppose  ? " 


280  THE    CIRCUIT   RIDER. 

Patty  reddened,  but  the  sick  man  did  not  see  it 
She  was  going  to  defend  herself — he  must  know  that 
she  was  the  person — but  how  ?  Then  she  remembered 
that  he  was  only  repeating  what  had  been  a  matter  of 
common  gossip,  and  some  feeling  of  mischievousness 
led  her  to  answer : 

"She  acted  badly — turned  him  off  because  he  be- 
came a  Methodist." 

"  But  there  was  trouble  before  that,  I  thought. 
When  he  gambled  away  his  coat  and  hat  one  night." 

"  Trouble  with  her  father,  I  think,"  said  Patty, 
casting  about  in  her  own  mind  how  she  might  change 
the  conversation. 

"  Is  she  alive  yet  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes." 

"  Give  her  head  to  marry  Goodwin  now,  111  bet," 
said  the  man. 

Patty  now  plead  that  she  must  hasten  to  school. 
She  omitted  reading  the  Bible  and  prayer  with  the 
patient  for  that  morning.  It  was  just  as  well.  There  are 
states  of  mind  not  favorable  to  any  but  the  most 
private  devotions. 

On  Friday  evening  Patty  intended  to  go  by  the 
cabin  a  moment,  but  on  coming  near  she  saw  horses 
tied  in  front  of  it,  and  her  heart  failed  her.  She 
reasoned  that  these  horses  belonged  to  members  of  the 
gang  and  she  could  not  bring  herself  to  plunge  into 
their  midst  in  the  dusk  of  the  evening.  But  on  Satur- 
day morning  she  found  the  strangers  not  yet  gone,  and 
heard  them  speak  of  the  sick  man  as  "  Pinkey."  "  Too 
soft !  too  soft !  altogether,"  said  one.  "  We  ought  to 


PATTY'S  JOURNEY.  281 

have   shipped   him "     Here    the   conversation  was 

broken  off. 

The  sick  man,  whom  the  others  called  Pinkey,  she 
found  very  uneasy.  He  was  glad  to  see  her,  and  told 
her  she  must  stay  by  him.  He  seemed  anxious  for 
the  men  to  go  away,  which  at  last  they  did.  Then 
he  listened  until  Mrs.  Barkins  and  her  children  became 
sufficiently  uproarious  to  warrant  him  in  talking. 

"  I  want  you  to  save  a  man's  life." 

"  Whose  ?  " 

"  Preacher  Goodwin's." 

Patty  turned  pale.  She  had  not  the  heart  to  ask 
a  question. 

"  Promise  me  that  you  will  not  betray  me  and  I'll 
tell  you  all  about  it." 

Patty  promised. 

"  He's   to   be   killed  as  he   goes   through  Wild  Cat 
Woods  on  Sunday  afternoon.     He  preaches  in  Jenkins-  \ 
ville    at   eleven,  and   at   Salt  Fork  at   three.     Between  ; 
the   two    he    will   be    killed.     You   must   go    yourself. 
They'll  never  suspect  you  of  such  a  ride.     If  any  man 
goes  out  of  this  settlement,  and  there's  a  warning  given, 
he'll   be    shot.     You    must   go    through  the  woods  to- 
night.    If  you  go  in  the  daytime,  you  and  I  will  both 
be  killed,  maybe.     Will  you  do  it?" 

Patty  had  her  full  share  of  timidity.  But  in  a 
moment  she  saw  a  vision  of  Morton  Goodwin  slain. 

"I  will  go." 

"  You  must  not  tell  the  doctor  a  word  about  where 
you're  going ;  you  must  not  tell  Goodwin  how  you  got 
the  information." 


282  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

"  He  may  not  believe  me." 
"  Anybody  would  believe  you." 
"  But  he  will  think  that  I  have  been  deceived,  and 
he  cannot  bear  to  look  like  a  coward." 

"  That's  true,"  said  Pinkey.  "  Give  me  a  piece  of 
paper.  I  will  write  a  word  that  will  convince  him." 

He  took  a  little  piece  of  paper,  wrote  one  word 
and  folded  it.  "  I  can  trust  you ;  you  must  not  open 
this  paper,"  he  said. 

"  I  will  not,"  said  Patty. 

"  And  now  you  must  leave  and  not  come  back 
here  until  Monday  or  Tuesday.  Do  not  leave  the 
settlement  until  five  o'clock.  Barkins  will  watch  you 
when  you  leave  here.  Don't  go  to  Dr.  Morgan's  till 
afternoon  and  you  will  get  rid  of  all  suspicion.  Take 
the  east  road  when  you  start,  and  then  if  anybody  is 
watching  they  will  think  that  you  are  going  to  the 
lower  settlement.  Turn  round  at  Wright's  corner.  It 
will  be  dark  by  the  time  you  reach  the  Long  Bottom, 
but  there  is  only  one  trail  through  the  woods.  You 
must  ride  through  to-night  or  you  cannot  reach  Jenk- 
insville  to-morrow.  God  will  help  you,  I  suppose,  if 
He  ever  helps  anybody,  which  I  don't  more  than 
half  believe.'* 

Patty  went  away  bewildered.  The  journey  did  not 
seem  so  dreadful  as  the  long  waiting.  She  had  to 
appear  unconcerned  to  the  people  with  whom  she 
boarded.  Toward  evening  she  told  them  she  was 
going  away  until  Monday,  and  at  five  o'clock  she  was 
at  the  doctor's  door,  trembling  lest  some  mishap  should 
prevent  her  getting  a  horse. 


PATTY'S  JOURNEY.  283 

"Patty,  howdy?"  said  the  doctor,  eyeing  her  agitat- 
ed face  sharply.  "  I  didn't  find  you  at  Barkins's  as  I 
expected  when  I  got  there  this  morning.  Sick  man 
did  not  say  much.  Anything  wrong?  What  scared 
you  away  ?  " 

"  Doctor,  I  want  to  ask  a  favor." 

"You  shall  have  anything  you  ask." 

"  But  I  want  you  to  let  me  have  it  on  trust,  an$ 
ask  me  no  questions  and  make  no  objections." 

"  I  will  trust  you." 

"  I  must  have  a  horse  at  once  for  a  journey." 

"This  evening?" 

"  This  evening." 

"  But,  Patty,  I  said  I  would  trust  you ;  but  to 
go  away  so  late,  unless  it  is  a  matter  of  life  and 
death " 

"  It  is  a  matter  of  life  and  death." 

"  And  you  can't  trust  me  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  my  secret.     I  promised  not  to  tell  you." 

"Now,  Patty,  I  must  break  my  promise  and  ask 
questions.  Are  you  certain  you  are  not  deceived  t 
May  n't  there  be  some  plot?  May  n't  I  go  with  you? 
Is  it  likely  that  a  robber  should  take  any  interest  in 
saving  the  life  of  the  person  you  speak  of?" 

Patty  looked  a  little  startled.  "  I  may  be  de- 
ceived, but  I  feel  so  sure  that  I  ought  to  go  that  I 
will  try  to  go  on  foot,  if  I  cannot  get  a  horse." 

"Patty,  I  don't  like  this.  But  I  can  only  trust 
your  judgment.  You  ought  not  to  have  been  bound 
not  to  tell  me." 

"It  is  a  matter  of  life  and    death  that    I    shall  go* 


284  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

It  is  a  matter  of  life  and  death  to  another  that  it 
shall  not  be  known  that  I  went.  It  is  a  matter  of  life 
and  death  to  you  and  me  both  that  you  shall  not 
go  with  me." 

"  Is  the  life  you  are  going  to  save  worth  risking 
your  own  for?  Is  it  only  the  life  of  a  robber?" 

"It  is  a  life  worth  more  than  mine.  Ask  me  no 
more  questions,  but  have  Bob  saddled  for  me."  Patty 
spoke  as  one  not  to  be  refused. 

The  horse  was  brought  out,  and  Patty  mounted, 
half  eagerly  and  half  timidly. 

"  When  will  you  come  back  ?  " 

"  In  time  for  school,  Monday." 

"  Patty,  think  again  before  you  start,"  called  the 
doctor. 

"  There's  no  time  to  think,"  said  Patty,  as  she  rode 
away. 

"  I  ought  to  have  forbidden  it,"  the  doctor  mut- 
tered to  himself  half  a  hundred  times  in  the  next 
forty-eight  hours. 

When  she  had  ridden  a  mile  on  the  road  that  led 
to  the  "  lower  settlement "  she  turned  an  acute  angle, 
and  came  back  on  the  hypothenuse  of  a,  right-angled 
triangle,  if  I  may  speak  so  geometrically.  She  thus 
went  more  than  two  miles  to  strike  the  main  trail 
toward  Jenkinsville,  at  a  point  only  a  mile  away  from 
her  starting-place.  She  reached  the  woods  in  Long 
Bottom  just  as  Pinkey  told  her  she  would,  at  dark. 
She  was  appalled  at  the  thought  of  riding  sixteen  miles 
through  a  dense  forest  of  beech  trees  in  the  night 
over  a  bridle-path.  She  reined  up  her  horse,  folded 


PATTY'S  JOURNEY.  28,5 

her    hands,    and    offered   a    fervent  prayer  for  courage 
and  help,  and  then  rode  into  the  blackness  ahead. 

There  is  a  local  tradition  yet  lingering  in  this  very 
valley  in  Ohio  in  regard  to  this  dark  ride  of  Patty's. 
I  know  it  will  be  thought  incredible,  but  in  that  day 
marvelous  things  were  not  yet  out  of  date.  This 
legend,  which  reaches  me  from  the  very  neighborhood 
of  the  occurrence,  is  that,  when  Patty  had  nerved  her- 
self for  her  lonely  and  perilous  ride  by  prayer,  there 
came  to  her,  out  of  the  darkness  of  the  forest,  two 
beautiful  dogs.  One  of  them  started  ahead  of  her 
horse  and  one  of  them  became  her  rear-guard.  Pro- 
tected and  comforted  by  her  dumb  companions,  Patty 
rode  all  those  lonesome  hours  in  that  wilderness  bridle- 
path. She  came,  at  midnight,  to  a  settler's  house  on 
the  farther  verge  of  the  unbroken  forest  and  found 
lodging.  The  dogs  lay  in  the  yard.  In  the  early 
morning  the  settler's  wife  came  out  and  spoke  to  them 
but  they  gave  her  no  recognition  at  all.  Patty  came  a 
few  moments  later,  when  they  arose  and  greeted  her 
with  all  the  eloquence  of  dumb  friends,  and  then, 
having  seen  her  safely  through  the  woods  and  through 
the  night,  the  two  beautiful  dogs,  wagging  a  friendly 
farewell,  plunged  again  into  the  forest  and  went — no 
man  knows  whither.  v 

Such  is  the  legend  of  Patty's  Ride  as  it  came  to 
me  well  avouched.  Doubtless  Mr.  John  Fiske  or  Mr. 
M.  D.  Conway  could  explain  it  all  away  and  show 
how  there  was  only  one  dog,  and  that  he  was  not; 
beautiful,  but  a  stray  bull-dog  with  a  stumpy  tail.  Or 
that  the  whole  thing  is  but  a  "solar  myth."  The 


286  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

middle-ages  have  not  a  more  pleasant  story  than  this 
pflmgeTs  sent  in  the  form  of  dogs  to  convoy  a  brave 
lady  on  a  noble  mission  through  a  dangerous  forest. 
At  any  rate,  Patty  believed  that  the  dumb  guardians 
were  answers  to  her  prayer.  She  bade  them  good-by 
as  they  disappeared  in  the  mystery  whence  they  came, 
and  rode  on,  rejoicing  in  so  signal  a  mark  of  God's 
favor  to  her  enterprise.  Sometimes  her  heart  was  sorely 
troubled  at  the  thought  of  Morton's  being  already  the 
husband  of  another,  and  all  that  Sunday  morning  she 
took  lessons  in  that  hardest  part  of  Christian  living — 
the  uttering  of  the  little  petition  which  gives  all  the 
inevitable  over  into  God's  hands  and  submits  to  the 
accomplishment  of  His  will. 

She  reached  Jenkinsville  at  half-past  eleven.  Meet- 
ing had  already  begun.  She  knew  the  Methodist 
church  by  its  general  air  of  square  ugliness,  and  near 
it  she  hitched  old  Bob. 

When  she  entered  the  church  Morton  was  preach- 
ing. Her  long  sun-bonnet  was  a  sufficient  disguise, 
and  she  sat  upon  the  back  seat  listening  to  the  voice 
whose  music  was  once  all  her  own.  Morton  was 
preaching  on  self-denial,  and  he  made  some  allusions 
to  his  own  trials  when  he  became  a  Christian  which 
deeply  touched  the  audience,  but  which  moved  none 
so  much  as  Patty. 

The  congregation  was  dismissed  but  the  members 
remained  to  "  :lass,"  which  was  always  led  by  the 
preacher  when  he  was  present.  Most  of  the  members 
sat  near  the  pulpit,  but  when  the  "  outsiders "  had 
gone  Patty  sat  lonesomely  on  the  back  seat,  with  a 


PATTY'S    JOURNEY.  287 

large  space  between  her  and  the  rest.  Morton  asked 
each  one  to  speak,  exhorting  each  in  turn.  At,  last, 
when  all  the  rest  had  spoken,  he  walked  back  to  where 
Patty  sat,  with  her  face  hidden  in  her  sun-bonnet,  and 
thus  addressed  her : 

"  My  strange  sister,  will  you  tell  us  how  it  is  with 
you  to-day?  Do  you  feel  that  you  have  an  interest 
in  the  Savior  ?  " 

Very  earnestly,  simply,  and  with  a  tinge  of  melan- 
choly Patty  spvAe.  There  was  that  in  her  superior 
diction  and  in  her  delicacy  of  expression  that  won 
upon  the  listeners,  so  that,  as  she  ceased,  the  brethren 
and  sisters  uttered  cordial  ejaculations  of  "  The  Lord 
bless  our  strange  sister,"  and  so  on.  But  Morton  t 
From  the  first  word  he  was  thrilled  with  the  familiar 
sound  of  the  voice.  It  could  not  be  Patty,  for  why 
should  Patty  be  in  Jenkinsville  ?  And  above  all,  why 
should  she  be  in  class-meeting?  Of  her  conver- 
sion he  had  not  heard.  But  though  it  seemed  to 
him  impossible  that  it  could  be  Patty,  there  was  yet 
a  something  in  voice  and  manner  and  choice  of  words 
that  had  almost  overcome  him;  and  though  he  was 
noted  for  the  freshness  of  the  counsels  that  he  gave 
in  class-meeting,  he  was  so  embarrassed  by  the  sense 
of  having  known  the  speaker,  that  he  could  not  think 
of  anything  to  say.  He  fell  hopelessly  into  that  trite 
exhortation  with  which  the  old  leaders  were  wont  to 
cover  their  inanity. 

"  Sister,"  he  said,  "  you  know  the  way — walk  in  it/ 

Then  the  brethren  and  sisters  sang: 
"O  brethren  will  you  meet  me 


288  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

And  the  meeting  was  dismissed. 

The  members  thought  themselves  bound  to  speak 
to  the  strange  sister.  She  evaded  their  kindly  ques- 
tions as  they  each  shook  hands  with  her,  only  answer- 
ing that  she  wished  to  speak  with  Brother  Goodwin. 
The  preacher  was  eager  and  curious  to  converse  with 
her,  but  one  of  the  old  brethren  had  button-holed  him 
to  complain  that  Brother  Hawkins  had  'tended  a  bar- 
becue the  week  before,  and  he  thought  that  he  had 
ought  to  be  "  read  out "  if  he  didn't  make  confession. 
When  the  old  brother  had  finished  his  complaint  and 
had  left  the  church,  Morton  was  glad  to  see  the  strange 
sister  lingering  at  the  door.  He  offered  his  hand  and 
said : 

"  A  stranger  here,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Not  quite  a  stranger,  Morton." 

"  Patty,  is  this  you  ?  "  Morton  exclaimed 

Patty  for  her  part  was  pleased  and  silent. 

"  Are  you  a  Methodist  then  ?  " 

"  I  am." 

"  And  what  brought  you  to  Jenkinsville  ?  "  he  said, 
greatly  agitated. 

"  To  save  your  life.  I  am  glad  I  can  make  you 
some  amend  for  the  way  I  treated  you  the  last  time  I 
saw  you." 

"  To  save  my  life  !     How  ?  " 

11 1  came  to  tell  you  that  if  you  go  to  Salt  Fork  this 
afternoon  you  will  be  killed  on  the  way." 
"How  do  you  know?" 

"You  must  not  ask  any  questions.  I  cannot  tell 
you  anything  more." 


-  PATTY'S    JOURNEY.  28& 

"  I  am  afraid,  Patty,  you  have  believed  somebody 
who  wanted  to  scare  me." 

Patty  here  remembered  the  mysterious  piece  of 
paper  which  Pinkey  had  given  her.  She  handed  it  to 
Morton,  saying: 

"  I  don't  know  what  is  in  this,  but  the  person  who 
sent  the  message  said  that  you  would  understand." 

Morton  opened  the  paper  and  started.  "Where  is 
he?"  he  asked. 

"  You  must  not  ask  questions,"  said  Patty,  smiling 
faintly. 

"And  you  rode  all  the  way  from  Hissawachee  to 
tell  me  ?  " 

"Not  at  all.  When  I  joined  the  church  Father, 
pulled  the  latch-string  in.  I  am  teaching  school  at 
Hickory  Ridge." 

"  Come,  Patty,  you  must  have  some  dinner."  Mor- 
ton led  her  horse  to  the  house  of  one  of  the  mem- 
bers, introduced  her  as  an  old  schoolmate,  who  had 
brought  him  an  important  warning,  and  asked  that  she 
receive  some  dinner. 

He  then  asked  Patty  to  let  him  go  back  with  her 
or  send  an  escort,  both  of  which  she  firmly  refused. 
He  left  the  house  and  in  a  minute  sat  on  his  Dolly 
before  the  gate.  At  sight  of  Dolly  Patty  could  have 
wept.  He  called  her  to  the  gate. 

"  If  you  won't  let  me  go  with  you  I  must  go  to 
Salt  Fork.  These  men  must  understand  that  I  am  not 
afraid.  I  shall  ride  ten  miles  farther  round  and  they 
will  never  know  how  I  did  it.  Dolly  can  do  it,  though. 
How  shall  I  thank  you  for  risking  your  life  for  me* 


290  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

Patty,  if  I  can  ever  serve  you  let  me  know,  and  I'll 
die  for  you,  I  would  rather  die  for  you  than  not." 

"  Thank  you,  Morton.     You  are  married,  I  hear." 

"  Not  married,  but  I  am  to  be  married."  He 
spoke  half  bitterly,  but  Patty  was  too  busy  suppressing 
her  own  emotion  to  observe  his  tone. 

"  I  hope  you'll  be  happy."  She  had  determined  to 
say  so  much. 

"  Patty,  I  tell  you  I  am  wretched,  and  will  be  till 
I  die.  I  am  marrying  one  I  never  chose.  I  am 
utterly  miserable.  Why  did  n't  you  leave  me  to  be 
waylaid  and  killed?  My  life  is  n't  worth  the  saving. 
But  God  bless  you,  Patty." 

So  saying,  he  touched  Dolly  with  the  spurs  and 
was  soon  gone  away  around  the  Wolf  Creek  road — a 
long  hard  ride,  with  no  dinner,  and  a  sermon  to 
preach  at  three  o'clock. 

And  all  the  hour  that  Patty  ate  and  rested  in  Jen- 
kinsville,  her  hostess  entertained  her  with  accounts  of 
Sister  Ann  Eliza  Meacham,  whom  Brother  Goodwin 
was  to  marry.  She  heard  how  eloquent  was  Sister 
Meacham  in  prayer,  how  earnest  in  Christian  labor,  and 
what  a  model  preacher's  wife  she  would  be.  But  the 
good  sister  added  slyly  that  she  did  n't  more  than  half  be- 
lieve Brother  Goodwin  wanted  to  marry  at  all.  He'd  tried 
his  best  to  give  Ann  Eliza  up  once,  but  could  n't  do  it. 

When  Patty  rode  out  of  the  village  that  afternoon 
she  did  her  best,  as  a  good  Christian,  to  feel  sorry 
that  Morton  could  not  love  the  one  he  was  to  marry. 
In  an  intellectual  way  she  did  regret  it,  but  in  her 
heart  she  was  a  woman. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

THE  SCHOOLMASTER  AND  THE  WIDOW. 

WHEN  Kike  had  appeared  at  the  camp  meeting,  ai 
we  related,  it  was  not  difficult  to  forecast  his  fate. 
Everybody  saw  that  he  was  going  into  a  consumption. 
One  year,  two  years  at  farthest,  he  might  manage  to 
live,  but  not  longer.  Nobody  knew  this  so  well  as 
Kike  himself.  He  rejoiced  in  it.  He  was  one  of 
those  rare  spirits  to  whom  the  invisible  world  is  not 
a  dream  but  a  reality,  and  to  whom  religious  duty  is 
a  voice  never  neglected.  That  he  had  sacrificed  his 
own  life  to  his  zeal  he  understood  perfectly  well,  and 
he  had  no  regrets  except  that  he  had  not  been  more 
zealous.  What  was  life  if  he  could  save  even  one 
soul? 

"But,"    said    Morton    to   him    one   day,   "you    are 
wrong,  Kike.     If  you  had  taken,  care  of  yourself  you  , 
might  have  lived  to  save  so  many  more." 

"  Morton,  if  your  eye  were  fastened  on  one  man 
drowning,"  replied  Kike,  "and  you  thought  you  could 
save  him  at  the  risk  of  your  health,  you  wouldn't  stop 
to  calculate  that  by  avoiding  that  peril  you  might  live 
long  enough  to  save  many  others.  When  God  puts  a 
soul  before  me  I  save  that  one  if  it  costs  my  life. 
When  I  am  gone  God  will  find  others.  It  is  glorious 
to  work  for  God,  but  it  is  awful.  What  if  by  some 


292  7*<ffff    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

neglect  of  mine  a  soul  should  drop  into  hell?  O! 
Morton,  I  am  oppressed  with  responsibility !  I  will  be 
glad  when  God  shall  say,  It  is  enough." 

Few  of  the  preachers  remonstrated  with  Kike.  He 
was  but  fulfilling  the  Methodist  ideal;  they  admired 
him  while  most  of  them  could  not  quite  emulate  him. 
Read  the  minutes  of  the  old  conferences  and  you  will 
see  everywhere  among  the  brief  obituaries,  headstones 
in  memory  of  young  men  who  laid  down  their  lives  as 
Kike  was  doing.  Men  were  nothing — the  work  was 
everything.  Methodism  let  the  dead  bury  their  dead; 
it  could  hardly  stop  to  plant  a  spear  of  grass  over  the 
grave  of  one  of  its  own  heroes. 

But  Pottawottomie  Creek  circuit  was  poor  and  wild, 
and  it  had  paid  Kike  only  five  dollars  for  his  whole 
nine  months'  work.  Two  of  this  he  had  spent  for 
horse-shoes,  and  two  he  had  given  away.  The  other 
one  had  gone  for  quinine.  Now  he  had  no  clothes 
that  would  long  hold  together.  He  would  ride  to 
Hissawachee  and  get  what  his  mother  had  carded  and 
spun,  and  woven,  and  cut,  and  sewed  for  the  son  whom 
she  loved  all  the  more  that  he  seemed  no  longer  to  be 
entirely  hers.  He  could  come  back  in  three  days. 
Two  days  more  would  suffice  to  reach  Peterborough 
circuit.  So  he  sent  on  to  the  circuit,  in  advance,  his 
appointments  to  preach,  and  rode  off  to  Hissawachee. 
But  he  did  not  get  back  to  camp-meeting.  An  attack 
of  fever  held  him  at  home  for  several  weeks. 

At  last  he  was  better  and  had  set  the  day  for  his 
departure  from  home.  His  mother  saw  what  everybody 
saw,  that  if  Kike  ever  lived  to  return  to  his  horn?  \t 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  AND    THE    WIDOW.    293 

would  only  be  to  die.  And  as  this  was,  perhaps,  his 
last  visit,  Mrs.  Lumsden  felt  in  duty  bound  to  tell  him 
of  her  intention  to  marry  Brady.  While  Brady  thought 
to  do  the  handsome  thing  by  secretly  getting  a  mar- 
riage license,  intending,  whenever  the  widow  should 
mention  the  subject  to  Kike,  to  immediately  propose 
that  Kike  should  perform  the  ceremony  of  marriage. 
It  was  quite  contrary  to  the  custom  of  that  day  for  a 
minister  to  officiate  at  a  wedding  of  one  of  his  own 
family ;  Brady  defied  custom,  however.  But  whenever 
Mrs.  Lumsden  tried  to  approach  Kike  on  the  subject,  her 
heart  failed  her.  He  was  so  wrapped  up  in  heavenly 
subjects,  so  full  of  exhortations  and  aspirations,  that  she 
despaired  beforehand  of  making  him  understand  her 
feelings.  Once  she  began  by  alluding  to  her  loneliness, 
upon  which  Kike  assured  her  that  if  she  put  her  trust 
in  the  Lord  he  would  be  with  her.  What  was  she  to 
do  ?  How  make  a  rapt  seer  like  Kike  understand  the 
wants  of  ordinary  mortals?  And  that,  too,  when  he 
was  already  bidding  adieu  to  this  world? 

The  last  morning  had  come,  and  Brady  was  urging 
on  the  weeping  widow  that  she  must  go  into  the  room 
where  Kike  was  stuffing  his  small  wardrobe  into  his 
saddle-bags,  and  tell  him  what  was  in  their  hearts. 

"Oh,  I  can't  bear  to,"  said  she.  "I  won't  never 
see  him  any  more  and  I  might  hurt  him,  and  " 

"Will,"  said  Brady,  "thin  I'll  hev  to  do  it  mesilf." 

"If  you  only  would!"  said  she,  imploringly. 

"  But  it's  so  much  more  appropriate  for  you  to  do 
it,  Mrs.  Lumsden.  If  I  do  it,  it'll  same  jist  loik« 
axin'  the  b'y's  consint  to  marry  his  mother." 


294  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

"But  I  can't  noways  do  it,"  said  the  widow.  "If 
you  love  me  you  might  take  that  load  offen  me." 

"I'll  do  it  if  it  kills  me,  sthraight,"  and  Brady 
marched  into  the  sitting-room,  where  Kike,  exhausted 
by  his  slight  exertion,  was  resting  in  the  shuck-bottom 
rocking-chair.  Brady  took  a  seat  opposite  to  him  on 
a  chair  made  out  of  a  transformed  barrel,  and  reached 
up  his  iron  gray  hair  uneasily.  To  his  surprise  Kike 
began  the  conversation. 

"  Mr.  Brady,  you  and  mother  a'n't  acting  very 
wisely,  I  think,"  said  Kike. 

"Ye've  noticed  us,  thin,"  said  Brady,  in  terror. 

"To  be  sure  I  have." 

"Will,  now,  Koike,  I'll  till  you  fwat  I'm  thinkin'. 
Ye 're  pecooliar  loike ;  ye  don't  know  how  to  sympa- 
thoize  with  other  folks  because  ye're  livin'  roight  up 
in  hiven  all  the  toime." 

"Why  don't  you  live  more  in  heaven?" 

"  Will,  I  think  I'd  throy  if  I  had  somebody  to  help 
me,"  said  Brady,  adroitly.  "But  I'm  one  of  the  koind 
that's  lonesome,  and  in  doire  nade  of  company.  I 
was  jilted  whin  I  was  young,  and  I  thought  I'd  niver 
be  a  fool  agin.  But  ye  see  ye  ain't  niver  been  in 
love  in  all  yer  loife,  and  how  kin  ye  fale  fer  others?" 

"  Maybe  I  have  been  in  love,  too,"  said  Kike,  a 
strange  softness  coming  into  his  voice. 

"  Did  ye  iver  !  Who'd  a  thought  it  ?  "  And  Brady 
made  large  eyes  at  him.  "  Thin  ye  ought  to  fale  fer  the 
infarmities  of  others,"  he  added  with  some  exultation. 

"  I  do.  That's  why  I  said  you  and  mother  wer« 
very  foolish." 


THE   SCHOOLMASTER  AND    THE    WIDOW.    295 

"  Fwy,  now ;  there  it  is  agin.    Fwat  do  ye  mane  ?  " 

"Why  this.  When  I  was  here  before  I  saw  that 
you  and  mother  had  taken  a  liking  to  each  other.  I 
thought  by  this  time  you'd  have  been  married.  And 
I  didn't  see  any  reason  why  you  shouldn't.  But  you're 
as  far  away  as  ever.  Here's  mother's  land  that  needs 
somebody  to  take  care  of  it.  I  am  going  away  never 
to  come  back.  If  I  could  see  you  married  the  only 
earthly  care  I  have  would  be  gone,  and  I  could  die  in 
peace,  whenever  and  wherever  the  Lord  calls  me." 

"  God  bliss  ye,  Koike,"  said  Brady,  wiping  his  eyes. 
"  Fwy  didn't  you  say  that  before  ?  Ye 're  a  prophet 
and  a  angel,  I  belave.  I  wish  I  was  half  as  good,  or  a 
quarther.  God  bliss  ye,  me  boy.  I  wish — I  wish  ye 
would  thry  to  live  afwoile,  I've  been  athrying'  and 
your  mother's  been  athryin'  to  muster  up  courage  to 
spake  to  ye  about  this,  and  ye  samed  so  hivenly  we 
thought  ye  would  be  displased.  Now,  will  ye  marry 
us  before  ye  go?" 

"  I  haven't  got  any  license." 

"  Here  'tis,  in  me  pocket." 

"Where's  a  witness  or  two?" 

"  I  hear  some  women-folks  come  to  say  good-bye 
to  ye  in  the  other  room." 

"  I'd  like  to  marry  you  now,"  said  Kike.  "  I  must 
get  away  in  an  hour." 

And  he  married  them.  They  wept  over  him,  and 
he  made  no  concealment  that  he  was  going  away 
for  the  last  time.  He  rode  out  from  Hissawachee 
never  to  come  back.  Not  sad,  but  exultant,  that  he 
had  sacrificed  everything  for  Christ  and  was  soon  to 


296  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

enter  into  the  life  everlasting.  For,  faithless  as  we  are 
in  this  day,  let  us  never  hide  from  ourselves  the  fact 
that  the  faith  of  a  martyr  is  indeed  a  hundred  fold 
more  a  source  of  joy  than  houses  and  lands,  and  wife 
and  children. 


CHAPTER   XXXL 

KIKE. 

TO  reach  Peterborough  Kike  had  to  go  through 
Morton's  great  diocese  of  Jenkinsville  Circuit. 
He  could  not  ride  far.  Even  so  intemperate  a  zealot 
as  Kike  admitted  so  much  economy  of  force  into  his 
calculations.  He  must  save  his  strength  in  journeying 
or  he  could  not  reach  his  circuit,  much  less  preach 
when  he  got  there.  At  the  close  of  his  second  day 
he  inquired  for  a  Methodist  house  at  which  to  stop, 
and  was  directed  to  the  double-cabin  of  a  "  located  " 
preacher — one  who  had  been  a  "  travelling  "  preacher, 
but,  having  married,  was  under  the  necessity  of  entan- 
gling himself  with  the  things  of  this  world  that  he  might 
get  bread  for  his  children.  As  he  rode  up  to  the 
house  Kike  gladly  noted  the  horses  hitched  to  the 
fence  as  an  evidence  that  there  must  be  a  meeting  in 
progress.  He  was  in  Morton's  circuit;  who  could  tell 
that  he  should  not  meet  him  here? 

When  Kike  entered  the  house,  Morton  stood  in  the 
door  between  the  two  rooms  preaching,  with  the  back 
of  a  "  split-bottomed  "  chair  for  a  pulpit.  For  a  mo- 
ment the  pale  face  of  Kike,  so  evidently  smitten  with 
death,  appalled  him ;  then  it  inspired  him,  and  Morton 
never  spoke  better  on  that  favorite  theme  of  the  early 


298  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

Methodist  evangelist — the  rest  in  heaven — than  while 
drawing  his  inspiration  from  the  pallid  countenance  of 
his  comrade. 

"  Ah !  Kike !  "  he  said,  when  the  meeting  was  dis- 
missed, "  I  wish  you  had  my  body." 

"  What  do  you  want  to  keep  me  out  of  heaven  for, 
Mort  ?  Let  God  have  his  way,"  said  Kike,  smiling 
contentedly. 

But  long  after  Kike  slept  that  night  Morton  lay 
awake.  He  could  not  let  the  poor  fellow  go  off  alone. 
So  in  the  morning  he  arranged  with  the  located  brother 
to  take  his  appointments  for  awhile  and  let  him  ride 
one  day  with  Kike. 

"  Ride  ten  or  twenty  if  you  want  to,"  said  the  ex- 
preacher.  "  The  corn's  laid  by  and  I've  got  nothing  to 
do,  and  I'm  spoiling  for  a  preach." 

Peterborough  circuit  lay  off  to  the  southeast  of 
Hickory  Ridge,  and  Morton,  persuaded  that  Kike  was 
unfit  to  preach,  endeavored  to  induce  him  to  turn  aside 
and  rest  at  Dr.  Morgan's,  only  ten  miles  out  of  his 
road. 

*  I  tell  you,  Morton,  I've  got  very  little  strength 
left.  I  cannot  spend  it  better  than  in  trying  to  save 
souls.  There's  Peterborough  vacant  three  months  since 
Brother  Jones  was  first  taken  sick.  I  want  to  make 
one  or  two  rounds  at  least,  preaching  with  all  the 
heart  I  have.  Then  I'll  cease  at  once  to  work  and 
live,  and  who  knows  but  that  I  may  slay  more  in  my 
death  than  in  my  life  ?  " 

But  Morton  feared  that  he  would  not  be  able  to 
make  one  round.  He  thought  he  had  an  overestimate 


KIKE.  299 

of  his  strength,  and  that  the  final  break-down  might 
come  at  any  moment.  So,  on  the  morning  of  the 
second  day  he  refused  to  yield  to  Kike's  entreaties  to 
return.  He  would  see  him  safe  among  the  members 
on  Peterborough  circuit,  anyhow. 

Now  it  happened  that  they  missed  the  trail  and 
wandered  far  out  of  their  way.  It  rained  all  the  after- 
noon, and  Kike  got  drenched  in  crossing  a  stream. 
Then  a  chill  came  on,  and  Morton  sought  shelter. 
He  stopped  at  a  cabin. 

"Come  in,  come  in,  brethren,"  said  the  settler, 
as  soon  as  he  saw  them.  "I  'low  ye're  preachers. 
Brother  Goodwin  I  know.  Heerd  him  down  at 
camp-meetin'  last  fall, — time  conference  met  on  the 
Ridge.  And  this  brother  looks  mis'rable.  Got  the 
shakes,  I  'low  ?  Your  name,  brother,  is — 

"  Brother  Lumsden,"  said  Morton. 

"  Lumsden  ?  Wy,  that  air's  the  very  name  of  our 
school-miss,  and  she's  stayin'  here  jes'  now.  I  kinder 
recolleck  that  you  was  sick  up  at  Dr.  Morgan's,  con- 
ference time.  Hey  ?  " 

Morton  looked  bewildered. 

"  How  far  is  Dr.  Morgan's  from  here  ?  " 

"Nigh  onto  three  quarter  'round  the  road,  I  'low. 
Ain't  it,  Sister  Lumsden  ?  "  This  last  to  Patty,  who  at 
that  moment  appeared  from  the  bedroom,  and  without 
answering  the  question,  greeted  Morton  and  Kike  with 
a  cry  of  joy.  Patty  was  "  boarding  round,"  and  it  was 
her  time  to  stay  here. 

"  How  did  we  get  here  ?  We  aimed  at  Lanham's 
Ferry,"  said  Morton,  bewildered. 


300 


THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 


"  Tuck  the  wrong  trail  ten  mile  back,  I  'low.  You 
should've  gone  by  Hanks's  Mills." 

Despite  all  protestations  from  the  Methodist  brother, 
Morton  was  determined  to  take  Kike  to  Dr.  Morgan's. 
Kike  was  just  sick  enough  to  be  passive,  and  he  suf- 


THE  REUNION. 


fered  himself  to  be  put  back  into  the  saddle  to  ride 
to  the  doctor's.  Patty,  meanwhile,  ran  across  the  fields 
and  gave  warning,  so  that  Kike  was  summarily  stowed 
away  in  the  bed  he  had  occupied  before.  Thus  do 


KIKE.  301 

men  try  to  run  away  from  fate,  and  rush  into  her  arms 
in  spite  of  themselves. 

It  did  not  require  very  great  medical  skill  to  under- 
stand what  must  be  the  result  of  Kike's  sickness. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  him,  Doctor?"  asked 
Morton,  next  morning. 

"  Absolute  physical  bankruptcy,  sir,"  answered  the 
physician,  in  his  abrupt  manner.  "There's  not  water 
enough  left  in  \he  branch  to  run  the  mill  seven  days.. 
Wasted  life,  sir,  wasted  life.  It  is  a  pity  but  you 
Methodists  had  a  little  moderation  in  your  zeal.'' 

Kike  uneasily  watched  the  door,  hoping  every 
minute  that  he  might  see  Nettie  come  in.  But  she  did 
not  come.  He  had  wished  to  avoid  her  father's  house 
for  fear  of  seeing  her,  but  he  could  not  bear  to 
be  thus  near  her  and  not  see  her.  Toward  evening 
he  called  Patty  to  him. 

"  Lean  down  here !  "  he  said. 

Patty  put  her  ear  down  that  nobody  might  hear. 

"  Where's  Nettie  ?  "  asked  Kike. 

"  About  the  house,  somewhere,"  said  Patty. 

"  Why  don't  she  come  in  to  see  me  ?  " 

"  Not  because  she  doesn't  care  for  you,"  said  Patty; 
"  she  seems  to  be  crying  half  the  time." 

Kike  watched  the  door  uneasily  all  that  evening. 
But  Nettie  did  not  come.  To  have  come  into  Kike's 
room  would  have  been  to  have  revealed  her  love  for 
one  who  had  never  declared  his  love  for  her.  The 
mobile  face  of  Nettie  disclosed  every  emotion.  No 
wonder  she  was  fain  to  keep  away.  And  yet  the  desire 
to  see  him  almost  overcame  her  fear  of  seeing  him. 


302  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

When  the  doctor  came  in  to  see  Kike  after  breakfast 
the  next  morning,  the  patient  looked  at  him  wistfully. 

"  Doctor  Morgan,  tell  me  the  truth.  Will  I  ever 
get  up  ?  " 

"You  can  never  get  up,  my  dear  boy,"  said  the 
physician,  huskily. 

A  smile  of  relief  spread  over  Kike's  face.  At  that 
word  the  awful  burden  of  his  morbid  sense  of  respon- 
sibility for  the  world's  salvation,  the  awful  burden  of 
a  self-sacrifice  that  was  terrible  and  that  must  be  life- 
long, slipped  from  his  weary  soul.  There  was  then 
nothing  more  to  be  done  but  to  wait  for  the  Master's 
release.  He  shut  his  eyes,  murmured  a  "  Thank  God  !  " 
and  lay  for  minutes,  motionless.  As  the  doctor  made  a 
movement  to  leave  him,  Kike  opened  his  eyes  and 
looked  at  him  eagerly. 

"  What  is  it,  my  boy  ?  "  said  Morgan,  stroking  the 
straight  black  hair  off  Kike's  forehead,  and  petting  him 
as  though  he  were  a  child.  "  What  do  you  want  ?  " 

"  Doctor "  said  Kike,  and  then  closed  his  eyes 

again. 

"  Don't  be  afraid  to  tell  me  what  is  in  your  heart, 
dear  boy."  The  tears  were  in  the  doctor's  eyes. 

"  If  you  think  it  best — if  you  think  it  best,  mind — • 
I  would  like  to  see  Nettie." 

"Of  course  it  is  best.  I  am  glad  you  mentioned 
it.  It  will  do  her  good,  poor  soul." 

"If  you  think  it  best  " 

"  Well  ? "  said  the  doctor,  seeing  that  Kike  hesitated 
*  Speak  out."       • 
"All  alone/' 


KIKE.  303 

"  Yes,  you  shall  see  her  alone.  That  is  best."  The 
doctor's  utterance  was  choked  as  he  hastened  out. 

Kike  lay  with  eyes  fixed  on  the  door.  It  seemed 
a  long  time  after  the  doctor  went  before  Nettie  came 
in.  It  was  only  three  minutes — three  minutes  in  which 
Nettie  vainly  strove  to  wipe  away  tears  that  flowed 
faster  than  she  could  remove  them.  At  last  her  hand 
was  on  the  latch.  She  gained  a  momentary  self-control. 
But  when  she  opened  the  door  and  saw  his  emaciated 
face,  and  his  black  eyes  looking  so  eagerly  for  her,  it 
was  too  much  for  the  poor  little  heart.  The  next 
moment  she  was  on  her  knees  by  his  bed,  sobbing 
violently.  And  Kike  put  out  his  feeble  hands  and 
drew  the  golden  head  up  close  to  his  bosom,  and  spoke 
tenderer  words  than  he  had  ever  heard  spoken  in  his 
life.  And  then  he  closed  his  eyes,  and  for  a  long  time 
nothing  was  said.  It  came  about  after  Nettie's  tears 
were  spent  that  they  talked  of  all  that  they  had  felt ; 
of  the  life  past  and  of  the  immortal  life  to  come. 
Hours  went  by  and  none  intruded  upon  this  betrothal 
for  eternity.  Patty  had  waited  without,  expecting 
to  be  called  to  take  her  place  again  by  her  cousin's 
bedside.  But  she  did  not  like  to  remain  in  con- 
versation with  Morton.  It  could  bring  nothing  but 
pain  to  them  both.  It  occurred  to  her  that  she  had 
not  seen  her  patient  in  Higgins's  Hollow  since  Kike 
came.  She  started  immediately,  glad  to  escape  from 
the  regrets  excited  by  the  presence  of  Morton,  and 
touched  with  remorse  that  she  had  so  long  neglected  a 
man  on  whose  heart  she  thought  she  had  been  able  to 
make  some  religious  impression. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

PINKEY'S  DISCOVERY. 

PINKEY  was  grum.  He  didn't  like  to  be  neglected, 
if  he  was  a  highwayman.  He  had  gotten  out  of 
bed  and  drawn  on  his  boots. 

"  So  you  could  n't  come  to  see  me  because  there 
was  a  young  preacher  sick  at  the  doctor's  ?  "  he  said, 
when  Patty  entered. 

"The  youns  preacher  is  my  cousin,"  said  Patty, 
"and  he  is  going  to  die." 

"Your  cousin,  "  said  Pinkey,  softened  a  little. 
"But  Goodwin  is  there,  too.  I  hope  you  didn't  tell 
him  anything  about  me  ?  " 

"  Not  a  word." 

"He  ought  to  be  grateful  to  you  for  saving  his 
life." 

"  He  seems  to  be." 

"  A.nd  people  that  are  grateful  are  very  likely  to 
have  other  feelings  after  awhile."  There  was  a  sig- 
nificance in  Pinkey's  manner  that  Patty  greatly  dis- 
liked. 

"You  should  not  talk  in  that  way.  Mr.  Goodwin 
is  engaged  to  be  married." 

"  Is  he  ?     Do  you  mind  telling  me  her  name  ?  " 

"To  a  lady  named  Meacham,  I  believe." 


PINKEY'S  DISCOVERY.  305 

"What?— Who?— To  Ann  Eliza?  How  did  it 
happen  that  I  have  never  heard  of  that?  To  Ann 
Eliza !  Confound  her ;  what  a  witch  that  girl  is !  I 
wish  I  could  spoil  her  game  this  time.  Goodwin  's  too 
good  for  her  and  she  sha'n't  have  him."  Then  he  sat 
still  as  if  in  meditation.  After  a  moment  he  resumed : 
"  Now,  Miss  Lumsden,  you've  done  one  good  turn  for 
him,  you  must  do  another.  I  want  to  send  a  note  to 
this  Ann  Eliza." 

"  /  cannot  take  it,"  said  Patty,  trembling. 

"  You  saved  his  life,  and  now  you  are  unwilling  to 
save  him  from  a  worse  evil.  You  ought  not  to  refuse." 

"  You  ought  not  to  ask  it.  The  circumstances  of 
the  case  are  peculiar.  I  will  not  take  it." 

"Will  you  take  a  note  to  Goodwin?" 

"  Not  on  this  business." 

Pinkey  was  startled  at  the  emotion  she  showed,  and 
looked  at  her  inquiringly:  "You  were  a  schoolmate 
of  Morton's — of  Goodwin's,  I  mean — and  a  body  would 
think  that  you  might  be  the  identical  sweetheart  that 
sent  him  adrift  for  joining  the  Methodists — and  then 
joined  the  Methodists  herself,  eh?" 

Patty  said  nothing,  but  turned  away. 

"By  the  holy  Moses,"  said  Pinkey,  in  a  half- 
soliloquy,  "if  that's  the  case,  I'll  break  the  net  of 
that  fisherwoman  this  time  or  drown  myself  a-trying." 

Patty  had  intended  to  read  the  Bible  to  her  patient, 
but  her  mind  was  so  disturbed  that  she  thought  best 
to  say  good-morning.  Pinkey  roused  himself  from  a 
reverie  to  call  her  back. 

"  Will  you   answer   me   one   question  ? "  he    asked. 


306  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

"  Does  Goodwin  want  to  marry  this  girl  ?     Is  he    - 
about  it,  do  you  think?  " 

"I  am  sure  he  isn't,"  said  Patty,  reproaching  her- 
self in  a  moment  that  she  had  said  so  much. 

Patty  made  some  kindly  remark  to  Mrs.  Barkins  as 
she  went  out,  walked  briskly  to  the  fence,  halted,  looked 
off  over  the  field  a  moment,  turned  round  and  came 
back.  When  she  re-entered  Pinkey's  room  he  had  put 
on  his  great  false-whiskers  and  wolf-skin  cap,  and  she 
trembled  at  the  transformation.  He  started,  but  said : 
"  Don't  be  afraid,  Miss  Lumsden,  I  am  not  meditating 
mischief.  I  will  not  hurt  you,  certainly,  and  you  must 
not  betray  me.  Now,  what  is  it  ?  " 

'  Don't  do  anything  wrong  in  this  matter,"  said 
Patty.  "  Don't  do  anything  that'll  lie  heavy  on  your 
soul  when  you  come  to  die. — I'm  afraid  you'll  do 
something  wrong  for  Mr.  Goodwin's  sake,  or — mine." 

"  No.  But  if  I  was  able  to  ride  I'd  do  one  thun- 
derin'  good  thing.  But  I  am  too  weak  to  do  any- 
thing, plague  on  it !  " 

"  I  wish  you  would  put  these  deceits  in  the  fire  and 
do  right,"  she  said,  indicating  his  disguises.  "  I  am 
disappointed  to  see  that  you  are  going  back  to  your 
old  ways."  * 

He  made  no  reply,  but  laid  off  his  disguises  and 
lay  down  on  the  bed,  exhausted.  And  Patty  departed, 
grieved  that  all  her  labors  were  in  vain,  while  Pinkey 
only  muttered  to  himself,  "I'm  too  weak,  confound 
it!" 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

THE  ALABASTER  BOX  BROKEN. 

NOT  until  Dr.  Morgan  came  in  at  noon  did  aay 
one  venture  to  open  the  door  of  Kike's  room. 
He  found  the  patient  much  better.  But  the  improve- 
ment could  not  be  permanent,  the  sedative  of  mental 
rest  and  the  tonic  of  joy  had  come  too  late. 

"  Morton,"  said  Kike,  "  I  want  Dolly  to  do  me  one 
more  service.  Nettie  will  explain  to  you  what  it  is." 

After  a  talk  with  Nettie,  Morton  rode  Dolly  away, 
leading  Kike's  horse  with  him.  The  doctor  thought 
he  could  guess  what  Morton  went  for,  but,  even  in 
melancholy  circumstances,  lovers,  like  children,  are  fond 
of  having  secrets,  and  he  did  not  try  to  penetrate  that 
which  it  gave  Kike  and  Nettie  pleasure  to  keep  to 
themselves.  At  ten  o'clock  that  night  Morton  came 
back  without  Kike's  horse. 

"  Did  you  get  it  ?  "  whispered  Kike,  who  had  grown 
visibly  weaker. 

Morton  nodded. 

"And  you  sent  the  message?" 

"Yes." 

Kike  gave  Nettie  a  look  of  pleasure,  and  then  sank 
into  a  satisfied  sleep,  while  Morton  proceeded  to  relate 
to  Doctor  Moigan  and  Patty  that  he  had  seen  in  the 


308  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

moonlight  a  notorious  highwayman.  "  His  nickname  is 
Pinkey ;  nobody  knows  who  he  is  or  where  he  comes 
from  or  goes  to.  He  got  a  hard  blow  in  a  fight  with 
the  police  force  of  the  camp  meeting.  It's  a  wonder 
it  did  n't  break  his  head.  I  searched  for  him  every- 
where, but  he  had  effectually  disappeared.  If  I  had 
been  armed  to-night  I  should  have  tried  to  arrest  him, 
for  he  was  alone." 

Patty  and  the  doctor  exchanged  looks. 

"Our  patient,  Patty." 

But  Patty  did  not  say  a  word. 

"  You  must  have  got  that  information  through  him !  " 
said  Morton,  with  surprise. 

But  Patty  only  kept  still. 

"  I  won't  ask  you  any  questions,  but  what  if  I  had 
killed  my  deliverer!  Strange  that  he  should  be  the 
bearer  of  a  message  to  me,  though.  I  should  rather 
expect  him  to  kill  me  than  to  save  me." 

Patty  wondered  that  Pinkey  had  ventured  away 
while  yet  so  weak,  and  found  in  herself  the  flutterings 
of  a  hope  for  which  she  knew  there  was  no  satis- 
factory ground. 

When  Saturday  morning  came,  Kike  was  sinking. 
"  Doctor  Morgan,"  he  said,  "  do  not  leave  me  long. 
Nettie  and  I  want  to  be  married  before  I  die." 

"  But  the  license  ?  "  said  the  doctor,  affecting  not  to 
suspect  Kike's  secret. 

"Morton  got  it  the  other  day.  And  I  am  looking 
for  my  mother  to-day.  I  don't  want  to  be  married 
till  she  comes.  Morton  took  my  horse  and  sent  for 
her." 


THE  ALABASTER  BOX  BROKEN.      303 

Saturday  passed  and  Kike's  mother  had  not  arrived. 
On  Sunday  morning  he  was  almost  past  speaking. 
Nettie  had  gone  out  of  the  room,  and  Kike  was 
apparently  asleep. 

"  Splendid  life  wasted,"  said  the  doctor,  sadly,  to 
Morton,  pointing  to  the  dying  man. 

"Yes,  indeed.  What  a  pity  he  had  no  care  for 
himself,"  answered  Morton. 

"Patty,"  said  Kike,  opening  his  eyes,  "the  Bible." 

Patty  got  the  Bible. 

"  Read  in  the  twenty-sixth  of  Matthew,  from  the 
seventh  verse  to  the  thirteenth,  inclusive,"  Kike  spoke 
as  if  he  were  announcing  a  text. 

Then,  when  Patty  was  about  to  read,  he  said: 
"  Stop.  Call  Nettie." 

When  Nettie  came  he  nodded  to  Patty,  and  she 
read  all  about  the  alabaster  box  of  ointment,  very 
precious,  that  was  broken  over  the  head  of  Jesus, 
and  the  complaint  that  it  was  wasted,  with  the  Lord's 
reply. 

"You  are  right,  my  dear  boy,"  said  Doctor  Morgan, 
with  effusion,  "what  is  spent  for  love  is  never  wasted. 
It  is  a  very  precious  box  of  ointment  that  you  have 
broken  upon  Christ's  head,  my  son.  The  Lord  will 
not  forget  it." 

When  Kike's  mother  and  Brady  rode  up  to  the 
door  on  Sunday  morning,  the  people  had  already 
begun  to  gather  in  crowds,  drawn  by  the  expectation 
that  Morton  would  preach  in  the  Hickory  Ridge 
church.  Hearing  that  Kike,  whose  piety  was  famous 
all  the  country  over,  was  dying,  they  filled  Doctor 


310  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

Morgan's  house  and  yard,  sitting  in  sad,  silent  group! 
on  the  fences  and  door-steps,  and  standing  in  the 
shade  of  the  yard  trees.  As  the  dying  preacher's 
mother  passed  through,  the  crowd  of  country  people 
fell  back  and  looked  reverently  at  her. 

Kike  was  already  far  gone.  He  was  barely  able  to 
greet  his  mother  and  the  good-hearted  Brady,  whose 
demonstrative  Irish  grief  knew  no  bounds.  Then  Kike 
and  Nettie  were  married,  amidst  the  tears  of  all.  This 
sort  of  a  wedding  is  more  hopelessly  melancholy  than 
a  funeral.  After  the  marriage  Nettie  knelt  by  Kike's 
side,  and  he  rallied  for  a  moment  and  solemnly  pro- 
nounced a  benediction  on  her.  Then  he  lifted  up 
his  hands,  crying  faintly,  "  O  Lord !  I  have  kept  back 
nothing.  Amen." 

His  hands  dropped  upon  the  head  of  Nettie.  The 
people  had  crowded  into  the  hall  and  stood  at  the 
windows.  For  awhile  all  thought  him  dead. 
.  A  white  pigeon  flew  in  at  one  of  the  windows  and 
lighted  upon  the  bed  of  the  dying  man.  The  early 
Western  people  believed  in  marvels,  and  Kike  was  to 
them  a  saint.  At  sight  of  the  snow-white  dove  pluming 
itself  upon  his  breast  they  all  started  back.  Was  it 
a  heavenly  visitant  ?  Kike  opened  his  eyes  and  gazed 
upon  the  dove  a  moment.  Then  he  looked  significantly 
at  Nettie,  then  at  the  people.  The  dove  plumed  itself 
a  moment  longer,  looked  round  on  the  people  out  of 
its  mute  and  gentle  eyes,  then  flitted  out  of  the  win- 
dow again  and  disappeared  in  the  sunlight.  A  smile 
overspread  the  dying  man's  face,  he  clasped  his  hands 
upon  his  bosom,  and  it  was  a  full  minute  before  any. 


THE  ALABASTER  BOX  BROKEN.     31  i 


body  discovered  that  the  pure,  heroic  spirit  of 
kiah  Lumsden  had  gone  to  its  rest. 

He  had  requested  that  no  name  should  be  placed 
over  his  grave.  "Let  God  have  any  glory  that  may 
come  from  my  labors,  and  let  everybody  but  Nettie 
forget  me,"  he  said.  But  Doctor  Morgan  had  a  slab 
of  the  common  blue  limestone  of  the  hills  —  marble  was 
not  to  be  had  —  cut  out  for  a  headstone.  The  device 
upon  it  was  a  dove,  the  only  inscription  :  "  An  alabaster 
box  of  very  precious  ointment." 

Death  is  not  always  matter  for  grief.  If  you  have 
ever  beheld  a  rich  sunset  from  the  summit  of  a 
lofty  mountain,  you  will  remember  how  the  world  was 
transfigured  before  you  in  the  glory  of  resplendent 
light,  and  how,  long  after  the  light  had  faded  from 
the  cloud-drapery,  and  long  after  the  hills  had  begun 
to  lose  themselves  in  the  abyss  of  darkness,  there 
lingered  a  glory  in  the  western  horizon  —  a  joyous 
lemory  of  the  splendid  pomp  of  the  evening.  Even 
so  the  glory  of  Kike's  dying  made  all  who  saw  it  feel, 
like  those  who  have  witnessed  a  sublime  spectacle/ 
which  they  may  never  see  again.  The  memory  of 
it  lingered  with  them  like  the  long-lingering  glow 
behind  the  western  mountains.  Sorry  that  the  suffer- 
ing life  had  ended  in  peace,  one  could  not  be;  and 
never  did  stormy  day  find  more  placid  sunset  than 
his.  Even  Nettie  had  never  felt  that  he  belonged  to 
her.  When  he  was  gone  she  was  as  one  whom  an 
angel  of  God  had  embraced.  She  regretted  his  absence, 
but  rejoiced  in  the  memory  of  his  love;  and  she  had 
not  entertained  any  hopes  that  could  be  disappointed. 


312  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

^ 

The  only  commemoration  his  name  received  was  in 
the  conference  minutes,  where,  like  other  such  heroes, 
he  was  curtly  embalmed  in  the  usual  four  lines: 

"  Hezekiah  Lumsden  was  a  man  of  God,  who  freely 
gave  up  his  life  for  his  work.  He  was  tireless  in 
labor,  patient  in  suffering,  bold  in  rebuking  sin,  holy 
in  life  and  conversation,  and  triumphant  in  death." 

The  early  Methodists  had  no  time  for  eulogies. 
A  handful  of  earth,  a  few  hurried  words  of  tribute, 
and  the  bugle  called  to  the  battle.  The  man  who 
died  was  at  rest,  the  men  who  staid  had  the  more 
work  to  do. 


NOTE.   In  the  striking  incid  int  ot  the  dove  lighting  upon  Kike's 
bed,  1  have  followed  strictly  the  statement  of  eye-witnesses. — E.E. 


CHAPTER   XXXIV. 

THE   BROTHERS. 

I3ATTY  had  received,  by  the  hand  of  Brady,  ft 
JL  letter  from  her  father,  asking  her  to  come  home. 
Do  not  think  that  Captain  Lumsden  wrote  penitently 
and  asked  Patty's  forgiveness.  Captain  Lumsden  never 
did  anything  otherwise  than  meanly.  He  wrote  that 
he  was  now  bedridden  with  rheumatism,  and  it  seemed 
hard  that  he  should  be  forsaken  by  his  oldest  daughter, 
who  ought  to  be  the  stay  of  his  declining  years.  He 
did  not  understand  how  Patty  could  pretend  to  be  so 
religious  and  yet  leave  him  to  suffer  without  the 
comfort  of  her  presence.  The  other  children  were 
young,  and  the  house  was  in  hopeless  confusion.  If 
the  Methodists  had  not  quite  turned  her  heart  away 
from  her  poor  afflicted  father,  she  would  come  at  once 
and  help  him  in  his  troubles.  He  was  ready  to  forgive 
the  past,  and  as  for  her  religion,  if  she  did  not  trouble 
him  with  it,  she  could  do  as  she  pleased.  He  did  not 
think  much  of  a  religion  that  set  a  daughter  against 
her  father,  though. 

Patty  was  too  much  rejoiced  at  the  open  door  that 
it  set  before  her  to  feel  the  sting  very  keenly.  There 
was  another  pain  that  had  grown  worse  with  every  day 
she  had  spent  with  Morton.  Beside  her  own  sorrow 


314  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

she  felt  for  him.  There  was  a  strange  restlessness  in 
his  eyes,  an  eager  and  vacillating  activity  in  what  he 
was  doing,  that  indicated  how  fearfully  the  tempest 
raged  within.  For  Morton 's  old  desperation  was  upon 
him,  and  Patty  was  in  terror  for  the  result.  About  the 
time  of  Kike's  death  the  dove  settled  upon  his  soul 
also.  He  had  mastered  himself,  and  the  restless  wild- 
ness  had  given  place  to  a  look  of  constraint  and 
suffering  that  was  less  alarming  but  hardly  less  dis- 
tressing to  Patty,  who  had  also  the  agony  of  hiding 
her  own  agony.  But  the  disappearance  of  Pinkey  had 
awakened  some  hope  in  her.  Not  one  jot  of  this 
trembling  hopefulness  did  she  dare  impart  to  Morton, 
who  for  his  part  had  but  one  consolation — he  would 
throw  away  his  life  in  the  battle,  as  Kike  had  done 
before  him. 

So  eager  was  Patty  to  leave  her  school  now  and 
hasten  to  her  father,  that  she  could  not  endure  to  stay 
the  weeks  that  were  necessary  to  complete  her  term. 
She  had  canvassed  with  Doctor  Morgan  the  possibility 
of  getting  some  one  to  take  her  place,  and  both  had 
concluded  that  there  was  no  one  available,  Miss  Jane 
Morgan  being  too  much  out  of  health.  But  to  their 
surprise  Nettie  offered  her  services.  She  had  not  been 
of  much  moie  use  in  the  world  than  a  humming-bird, 
she  said,  and  now  it  seemed  to  her  that  Kike  would 
be  better  pleased  that  she  should  make  herself  useful. 

Thus  released,  Patty  started  home  immediately,  and 
Morton,  who  could  not  reach  the  distant  part  of  his 
circuit,  upon  which  his  supply  was  now  preaching,  in 
time  to  resume  his  work  at  once,  concluded  to  set  out 


THE  BROTHERS.  315 

for  Hissawachee  also,  that  he  might  see  how  his  parents 
fared.  But  he  concealed  his  purpose  from  Patty,  who 
departed  in  company  with  Brady  and  his  wife.  Morton 
would  not  trust  himself  in  her  society  longer.  He 
therefore  rode  round  by  a  circuitous  way,  and,  thanks 
to  Dolly,  reached  Hissawachee  before  them. 

I  may  not  describe  the  enthusiasm  with  which 
Morton  was  received  at  home.  Scarcely  had  he  kissed 
his  mother  and  shaken  hands  with  his  father,  who  was 
surprised  that  none  of  his  dolorous  predictions  had 
been  fulfilled,  and  greeted  young  Henry,  now  shooting 
up  into  manhood,  when  his  mother  whispered  to  him 
that  his  brother  Lewis  was  alive  and  had  come 
home. 

"  What !  Lewis  alive  ?  "  exclaimed  Morton,  "  I 
thought  he  was  killed  in  Pittsburg  ten  years  ago." 

"That  was  a  false  report.  He  had  been  doing 
badly,  and  he  did  not  want  to  return,  and  so  he  let 
us  believe  him  dead.  But  now  he  has  come  back  and 
he  is  afraid  you  will  not  receive  him  kindly.  I  suppose 
he  thinks  because  you  are  a  preacher  you  will  be  hard 
on  his  evil  ways.  But  you  wont  be  too  hard,  will 
you  ?  " 

"  I  ?  God  knows  I  have  been  too  great  a  sinner 
myself  for  that.  Where  is  Lew  ?  I  can  just  remember 
how  he  used  to  whittle  boats  for  me  when  I  was  a 
little  boy.  I  remember  the  morning  he  ran  off,  and 
how  after  that  you  always  wanted  to  move  West. 
Poor  Lew!  Where  has  he  gone?" 

His  mother  opened  the  door  of  the  little  bed-room 
and  led  out  the  brother. 


316  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

"  What !  Burchard  ?  "  cried  Morton.  "  What  does 
this  mean  ?  Are  you  Lewis  Goodwin  ?  " 

"  I  am !  " 

"  That  's  why  you  gave  me  back  my  horse  and  gun 
when  you  found  out  who  I  was.  That  's  how  you 


THE  BROTHERS. 

saved  me  that  day  at  Brewer's  Hole.  And  that's  why 
you  warned  me  at  Salt  Fork  and  sent  me  that  othei 
warning.  Well,  Lewis,  I  would  be  glad  to  see  you 
anyhow,  but  I  ought  to  be  not  only  glad  as  a  brother, 
but  glad  that  I  can  thank  you  for  saving  my  life." 


THE  BROTHERS.  31 T 

•'  But  I'  ve  been  a  worse  man  than  you  think,  Mort.' 

"  What  of  that  ?  God  forgives,  and  I  am  sure  that 
it  is  not  for  such  a  sinner  as  I  am  to  condemn  you. 
If  you  knew  what  desperate  thoughts  have  tempted  me 
in  the  last  week  you  would  know  how  much  I  am 
your  brother." 

Just  here  Brady  knocked  at  the  door  and  pushed 
it  open,  with  a  "  Howdy,  Misses  Goodwin  ?  Howdy, 
Mr.  Goodwin  ?  and,  Moirton,  howdy  do  ?  " 

"  This  is  my  brother  Lewis,  Mr.  Brady.  We  thought 
he  was  dead." 

"  Heigh-ho  !  The  prodigal 's  come  back  agin,  eh  ? 
Mrs.  Goodwin,  I  congratilate  ye." 

And  then  Mrs.  Brady  was  introduced  to  Lewis. 
Patty,  who  stood  behind,  came  forward,  and  Morton 
said  :  "  Miss  Lumsden,  my  brother  Lewis." 

"  You  need  n't  introduce  her,"  said  Lewis.  "  She 
knows  me  already.  If  it  had  n't  been  for  her  I  might 
have  been  dead,  and  in  perdition,  I  suppose. 

"  Why,  how  's  that  ? "  asked  Morton,  bewildered. 

"  She  nursed  me  in  sickness,  and  read  the  parable 
of  the  Prodigal  Son,  and  told  me  that  it  was  my 
mother's  favorite  chapter." 

"So  it  is,"  said  Mrs.  Goodwin;  "I've  read  it 
every  day  for  years.  But  how  did  you  know  that, 
Patty  ?  " 

"  Why,"  said  Lewis,  "  she  said  that  one  woman 
knew  how  another  woman  felt.  But  you  don't  know 
how  good  Miss  Lumsden  is.  She  did  not  know  me  as 
Lewis  Goodwin  or  Burchard,  but  in  quite  a  different 
character.  I  suppose  I  'd  as  well  make  a  clean  breast  < 


818  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

of  it,   Mort,  at  once.      Then  there  '11   be  no  surprises 
afterward.     And  if  you  hate  me  when  you  know  it  all, 
I  can't  help  it."    With  that  he  stepped  into  the  bed- 
room and  came  forth  with  long  beard  and  wolf-skin  cap. 
'•  What !  Pinkey  ?  "  said  Morton,  with  horror. 
"  The  Pinkey  that   you    told    that  big   preacher   to 
knock  down,  and  then  hunted  all  over  the  country  to 
find." 

Seeing  Morton's  pained  expression  at  this  discovery 
of  his  brother's  bad  character,  Patty  added  adroitly: 
"The  Pinkey  that  saved  your  life,  Morton." 

Morton  got  up  and  stood  before  his  brother.  "  Give 
me  your  hanu  again,  Lewis.  I  am  so  glad  you  came 
home  at  last.  God  bless  you." 

Lewis  sat  down  and  rested  his  head  in  his  hands. 
"  I  have  been  a  very  wicked  man,  Morton,  but  I  never 
committed  a  murder.  I  am  guilty  of  complicity.  I  got 
tangled  in  the  net  of  Micajah  Harp's  band.  I  helped 
them  because  they  had  a  hold  on  me,  and  I  was  too 
weak  to  risk  the  consequences  of  breaking  with  them. 
That  complicity  has  spoiled  all  my  life.  But  the 
crimes  they  laid  on  Pinkey  were  mostly  committed  by 
others.  Pinkey  was  a  sort  of  ghost  at  whose  doors  all 
sins  were  laid." 

"  I  must  hurry  home,"  said  Patty.  "  I  only  stopped 
to  shake  hands,"  and  she  rose  to  go. 

"  Miss  Lumsden,"  said  Lewis,  "  you  wanted  me  to 
destroy  these  lies.  You  shall  have  them  to  do  what 
you  like  with.  I  wish  you  could  take  my  sins,  too." 

Patty  put  the  disguises  into  the  fire.  "  Only  God 
can  take  your  sins,"  she  said 


THE  BROTHER.  319 

"  Even  he  can't  make  me  forget  them,"  said  Lewis, 
with  bitterness. 

Patty  went  home  in  anxiety.  Lewis  Goodwin 
seemed  to  have  forgotten  the  resolution  he  had  made 
as  Pinkey  to  save  Morton  from  Ann  Eliza. 

But  Patty  went  home  bravely  and  let  thoughts  of 
present  duty  crowd  out  thoughts  of  possible  happiness. 
She  bore  the  peculiar  paternal  greetings  of  her  father ; 
she  installed  herself  at  once,  and  began,  like  a  good 
genius,  to  evolve  order  out  of  chaos.  By  the  cime 
evening  arrived  the  place  had  come  to  know  its  Jiiistress 
again. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

PINKEY    AND     ANN     ELIZA. 

THAT  evening,  after  dark,  Morton  and  his  Brother 
Lewis  strolled  into  the  woods  together.  It  was 
not  safe  for  Lewis  to  walk  about  in  the  day  time. 
The  law  was  on  one  side  and  the  vengeance  of  Mica- 
jah  Harp's  band,  perhaps,  on  the  other.  But  in  the 
twilight  he  told  Morton  something  which  interested 
the  latter  greatly,  and  which  increased  his  gratitude 
to  Lewis.  That  you  may  understand  what  this  com- 
munication was,  I  must  go  back  to  an  event  that 
happened  the  week  before — to  the  very  last  adventure 
that  Lewis  Goodwin  had  in  his  character  of  Pinkey. 

Ann  Eliza  Meacham  had  been  disappointed.  She 
had  ridden  ten  miles  to  Mount  Tabor  Church,  one 
of  Morton's  principal  appointments.  No  doubt  Ann 
Eliza  persuaded  herself — she  never  had  any  trouble  in 
persuading  herself — that  zeal  for  religious  worship  was 
the  motive  that  impelled  her  to  ride  so  far  to  church. 
But  why,  then,  did  she  wish  she  had  not  come,  when 
instead  of  the  fine  form  and  wavy  locks  of  Brother 
Goodwin,  she  found  in  the  pulpit  only  the  located 
brother  who  was  supplying  his  place  in  his  absence 
at  Kike's  bedside?  Why  did  she  not  go  on  to  the 
afternoon  appointment  as  she  had  intended  ?  Certain 


PINKEY  AND  ANN  ELIZA.  321 

it  is  that  when  Ann  Eliza  left  that  little  log  church — 
called  Mount  Tabor  because  it  was  built  in  a  hollow, 
perhaps — she  felt  unaccountably  depressed.  She  con- 
sidered it  a  spiritual  struggle,  a  veritable  hand  to 
hand  conflict  with  Satan.  She  told  the  brethren  and 
sisters  that  she  must  return  home,  she  even  declined 
to  stay  to  dinner.  She  led  the  horse  up  to  a  log 
and  sprang  into  the  saddle,  riding  away  toward  home 
as  rapidly  as  the  awkward  old  natural  pacer  would 
carry  her.  She  was  vexed  that  Morton  should  stay 
away  from  his  appointments  on  this  part  of  his  cir- 
cuit to  see  anybody  die.  He  might  know  that  it 
would  be  a  disappointment  to  her.  She  satisfied  her- 
self, however,  by  picturing  to  her  own  imagination 
the  half-coldness  with  which  she  would  treat  Brother 
Goodwin  when  she  should  meet  him.  She  inly  re- 
hearsed the  scene.  But  with  most  people  there  is  a 
more  secret  self,  kept  secret  even  from  themselves. 
And  in  her  more  secret  self,  Ann  Eliza  knew  that 
she  would  not  dare  treat  Brother  Goodwin  coolly. 
She  had  a  sense  of  insecurity  in  her  hold  upon  him. 

Riding  thus  through  the  great  forests  of  beech  and 
maple  Ann  Eliza  had  reached  Cherry  Run,  only  half 
a  mile  from  her  aunt's  house,  and  the  old  horse,  scent- 
ing the  liberty  and  green  grass  of  the  pasture  ahead 
of  him,  had  quickened  his  pace  after  crossing  the 
"run,"  when  what  should  she  see  ahead  but  a  man 
in  wolf-skin  cap  and  long  whiskers.  She  had  heard  of 
Pinkey,  the  highwayman,  and  surely  this  must  be  he. 
Her  heart  fluttered,  she  reined  her  horse,  and  the  high- 
wayman advanced. 


322  THE    CIRCUIT   RIDER. 

"  I  haven  *t  anything  to  give  you.  What  do  you 
want?" 

"  I  don't  want  anything  but  to  persuade  you  to  do 
your  duty,"  he  said,  seating  himself  by  the  side  of 
the  trail  on  a  stump. 


AN  ACCUSING  MEMORY. 


"Let   me  go  on,"   said  Miss   Meacham,  frightened, 
starting  her  horse. 

"  Not  yet,"  said  Pinkey,  seizing  the  bridle,  "  I  want 


PINKEY  AND  ANN  ELIZA.  323 

to  talk  to  you."  And  he  sat  down  again,  holding  fast 
to  her  bridle-rein. 

"  What  is  it  ?"  asked  Ann  Eliza,  subdued  by  a  sense 
of  helplessness. 

"  Do  you  think,  Sister  Meacham,"  he  said  in  a 
canting  tone,  "that  you  are  doing  just  right?  Is  not 
there  something  in  your  life  that  is  wrong?  With  all 
your  praying,  and  singing,  and  shouting,  you  are  a 
wicked  woman." 

Ann  Eliza's  resentment  now  took  fire.  "Who  are 
you,  that  talk  in  this  way  ?  You  are  a  robber,  and 
you  know  it !  If  you  don't  repent  you  will  be  lost ! 
Seek  religion  now.  You  will  soon  sin  away  your  day 
of  grace,  and  what  an  awful  eternity — " 

Miss  Meacham  had  fallen  into  this  hortatory  vein, 
partly  because  it  was  habitual  with  her,  and  con- 
sequently easier  in  a  moment  of  confusion  than  any 
other,  and  partly  because  it  was  her  forte  and  she 
thought  that  these  earnest  and  pathetic  exhortations 
were  her  best  weapons.  But  when  she  reached  the 
words  "  awful  eternity,"  Pinkey  cried  out  sneeringly  : 

"  Hold  up,  Ann  Eliza !  You  don't  run  over  me 
that  way.  I  'm  bad  enough,  God  knows,  and  I  'm 
afraid  I  shall  find  my  way  to  hell  some  day.  But  if 
I  do  I  expect  to  give  you  a  civil  good  morning  on 
my  arrival,  or  welcome  you  if  you  get  there  after  I  do. 
You  see  I  know  all  about  you,  and  it  's  no  use  for 
you  to  glory -hallelujah  me." 

Ann  Eliza  did  not  think  of  anything  appropriate 
to  the  occasion,  and  so  she  remained  silent. 

'*  I    hear    you    have   got    young    Goodwin   on    your 


324  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

hooks,  now,  and  that  you  mean  to  marry  him  against 
his  will.  Is  that  so?" 

"  No,  it  isn  *t.     He  proposed  to  me  himself." 

"  O9  yes !  I  suppose  he  did.     You  made  him !  " 

"  I  did  n't." 

"  I  suppose  not.  You  never  did.  Not  even  in 
Pennsylvania.  How  about  young  Harlow  ?  Who  made 
him  ?  " 

Ann  Eliza  changed  color  "  Who  are  you  ?  "  she 
asked. 

"  And  that  fellow  with  dark  hair,  what's  his  name  ? 
The  one  you  danced  with  down  at  Stevens's  one 
night." 

"  What  do  you  bring  up  all  my  old  sins  for  ? " 
asked  Ann  Eliza,  weeping.  "  You  know  I  have 
repented  of  all  of  them,  and  now  that  I  am  trying  to 
lead  a  new  life,  and  now  that  God  has  forgiven  my 
sins  and  let  me  see  the  light  of  his  reconciled  coun- 
tenance   " 

"  Stop,  Ann  Eliza,"  broke  out  Pinkey.  "  You  sha'n't 
glory-hallelujah  me  in  that  style,  confound  you!  Maybe 
God  has  forgiven  you  for  driving  Harlow  to  drink 
himself  into  tremens  and  the  grave,  and  for  sending 
that  other  fellow  to  the  devil,  and  for  that  other  thing, 
you  know.  You  would  n't  like  me  to  mention  it. 
You  Ve  got  a  very  pretty  face,  Ann  Eliza, — you  know 
you  have.  But  Brother  Goodwin  don't  love  you.  You 
entangled  him;  you  know  you  did.  Has  God  forgiven 
you  for  that,  yet  ?  Don't  you  think  you  'd  better  go 
to  the  mourners'  bench  next  time  yourself,  instead  of 
talking  to  the  mourners  as  if  you  were  an  angel? 


PINKEY  AND  ANN  ELIZA.  325 

Come,  Ann  Eliza,  look  at  yourself  and  see  if  you  can 
sing  glory-hallelujah.     Hey  ?  " 

"  Let  me  go,"  plead  the  young  woman,  in  terror. 

"  Not  yet,  you  angelic  creature.  Now  that  I  come 
to  think  of  it,  piety  suits  your  style  of  feature.  Ann 
Eliza,  I  want  to  ask  you  one  question  before  we  part, 
to  meet  down  below,  perhaps.  If  you  are  so  pious, 
why  can't  you  be  honest  ?  Why  can't  you  tell  Preacher 
Goodwin  what  you  left  Pennsylvania  for?  Why  the 
devil  don't  you  let  him  know  beforehand  what  sort  of  a 
horse  he  's  getting  when  he  invests  in  you  ?  Is  it  pious 
to  cheat  a  man  into  marrying  you,  when  you  know  he 
would  n't  do  it  if  he  knew  the  whole  truth  ?  Come 
now,  you  talk  a  good  deal  about  the  *  bar  of  God,' 
what  do  you  think  will  become  of  such  a  swindle  as 
you  are,  at  the  bar  of  God  ?  " 

<k  You  are  a  wicked  man,"  cried  she,  "  to  bring  up 
the  sins  that  I  have  put  behind  my  back.  Why 
should  I  talk  with — with  Brother  Goodwin  or  anybody 
about  them  ?  " 

For  Ann  Eliza  always  quieted  her  conscience  by 
reasoning  that  God's  forgiveness  had  made  the  un- 
pleasant facts  of  her  life  as  though  they  were  not.  It 
was  very  unpleasant,  when  she  had  put  down  her 
memory  entirely  upon  certain  points,  to  have  it  march 
up  to  her  from  without,  wearing  a  wolf-skin  cap  and 
false  whiskers,  and  speaking  about  the  most  disagree 
able  subjects. 

"  Ann  Eliza,  I  thought  maybe  you  had  a  conscience, 
but  you  don't  seem  to  have  any.  You  are  totally 
depraved,  I  believe,  if  you  do  love  to  sing  and  shout 


S26  THE    CIRCUIT  RlDER. 

and  pray.  Now,  when  a  preacher  cannot  get  a  man 
to  be  good  by  talking  at  his  conscience,  he  talks 
damnation  to  him.  But  you  think  you  have  managed 
to  get  round  on  the  blind  side  of  God,  and  I  don't 
suppose  you  are  afraid  of  hell  itself.  So,  as  conscience 
and  perdition  won't  touch  you,  I  '11  try  something  else- 
You  are  going  to  write  a  note  to  Preacher  Goodwin 
and  let  him  off.  I  am  going  to  carry  it." 

"  I  won't  write  any  such  a  note,  if  you  shoot  me !  " 

"You  are  n't  afraid  of  gunpowder.  You  think 
you  'd  sail  into  heaven  straight,  by  virtue  of  your 
experiences.  I  am  not  going  to  shoot  you,  but  here 
is  a  pencil  and  a  piece  of  paper.  You  may  write  to 
Goodwin,  or  I  shall.  If  I  write  I  will  put  down  a 
truthful  history  of  all  Ann  Eliza  Meacham's  life,  and 
I  shall  be  quite  particular  to  tell  him  why  you  left 
Pennsylvania  and  came  out  here  to  evangelize  the 
wilderness,  and  play  the  mischief  with  your  heavenly 
blue  eyes.  But,  if  you  write,  I  '11  keep  still." 

"  I  '11  write,  then,"  she  said,  in  trepidation. 

"  You  '11  write  now,  honey,"  replied  her  mysterious 
tormentor,  leading  the  horse  up  to  the  stump. 

Ann  Eliza  dismounted,  sat  down  and  took  the 
pencil.  Her  ingenious  mind  immediately  set  itself  to 
devising  some  way  by  which  she  might  satisfy  the  man 
who  was  so  strangely  acquainted  with  her  life,  and  yet 
keep  a  sort  of  hold  upon  the  young  preacher.  But  the 
man  stood  behind  her  and  said,  as  she  began,  "  Now 
write  what  I  say.  I  don't  care  how  you  open.  Call 
him  any  sweet  name  you  please.  But  you  'd  better 
say  '  Dear  Sir.'  " 


PINKEY  AND  ANN  ELIZA.  327 

Ann  Eliza  wrote  :  "  Dear  Sir." 

"  Now  say  :  '  The  engagement  between  us  is  broken 
off.  It  is  my  fault,  not  yours.'  " 

"I  won't  write  that." 

"  Yes,  you  will,  my  pious  friend.  Now,  Ann  Eliza, 
you  Ve  got  a  nice  face ;  when  a  man  once  gets  in  love 
with  you  he  can't  quite  get  out.  I  suppose  I  will  feel 
tender  toward  you  when  we  meet  to  part  no  more, 
down  below.  I  was  in  love  with  you  once." 

"  Who  are  you  ?  " 

"  O,  that  don't  matter !  I  was  going  to  say  that  if 
I  had  n't  been  in  love  with  your  blue  eyes  once  I 
would  n't  have  taken  the  trouble  to  come  forty  miles 
to  get  you  to  write  this  letter.  I  was  only  a  mile 
away  from  Brother  Goodwin,  as  you  call  him,  when  1 
heard  that  you  had  victimized  him.  I  could  have  sent 
him  a  note.  I  came  over  here  to  save  you  from  the 
ruin  you  deserve.  I  would  have  told  him  more  than 
the  people  in  Pennsylvania  ever  knew.  Come,  my  dear, 
scribble  away  as  I  say,  or  I  will  tell  him  and  every- 
body else  what  will  take  the  music  out  of  your  love- 
feast  speeches  in  all  this  country." 

With  a  tremulous  hand  Ann  Eliza  wrote,  reflecting 
that  she  could  send  another  note  after  this  and  tell 
Brother  Goodwin  that  a  highwayman  who  entertained 
an  insane  love  for  her  had  met  her  in  a  lonely  spot 
and  extorted  this  from  her.  She  handed  the  note  to 
Pinkey. 

"  Now,  Ann  Eliza,  you  'd  better  ask  God  to  forgive 
this  sin,  too.  You  may  pray  and  shout  till  you  die. 
I  *1J  never  say  anything — unless  you  open  communica- 


J28  THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

lion  with  preacher  Goodwin  again.  Do  that,  and  I  'II 
blow  you  sky-high." 

"  You  are  cruel,  and  wicked,  and  mean,  and —  " 

"  Come,  Ann  Eliza,  you  used  to  call  me  sweeter 
names  than  that,  and  you  don't  look  half  so  fascinat- 
ing when  you  're  mad  as  when  you  are  talking  heavenly. 
Good  by,  Miss  Meacham. "  And  with  that  Pinkey  went 
into  a  thicket  and  brought  forth  his  own  horse  and 
rode  away,  not  on  the  road  but  through  the  woods. 

If  Ann  Eliza  could  have  guessed  which  one  of  her 
jnany  lovers  this  might  be  she  would  have  set  about 
forming  some  plan  for  circumventing  him.  But  the 
mystery  was  too  much  for  her.  She  sincerely  loved 
Morton,  and  the  bitter  cup  she  had  given  to  others 
had  now  come  back  to  her  own  lips.  And  with  it 
came  a  little  humility.  She  could  not  again  forget 
her  early  sins  so  totally.  She  looked  to  see  them  start 
out  of  the  bushes  by  the  wayside  at  her. 

After  this  recital  it  is  not  necessary  that  I  should 
tell  you  what  Lewis  Goodwin  told  his  brother  that 
night  as  they  strolled  in  the  woods. 

At  midnight  Lewis  left  home,  where  he  could  not 
stay  longer  with  safety.  The  war  with  Great  Britain 
had  broken  out  and  he  joined  the  army  at  Chillicothe 
under  his  own  name,  which  was  his  best  disguise.  He 
was  wounded  at  Lundy's  Lane,  and  wrote  home  that 
he  was  trying  to  wipe  the  stain  off  his  name.  He 
afterward  moved  West  and  led  an  honest  life,  but  the 
memory  of  his  wild  youth  never  ceased  to  give  him 
pain.  Indeed  nothing  is  so  dangerous  to  a  reformed 
sinner  as  forgetfulness. 


CHAPTER    XXXVI. 

GETTING    THE    ANSWER. 

WHEN  Patty  went  down  to  strain  the  milk  on  the 
morning  after  her  return,  the  hope  of  some 
deliverance  through  Lewis  Goodwin  had  well-nigh  died 
out.  If  he  had  had  anything  to  communicate,  Morton 
would  not  have  delayed  so  long  to  come  to  see  her. 
But,  standing  there  as  of  old,  in  the  moss-covered 
spring-house,  she  was,  in  spite  of  herself,  dreaming 
dreams  of  Morton,  and  wondering  whether  she  could 
have  misunderstood  the  hint  that  Lewis  Goodwin, 
while  he  was  yet  Pinkey,  had  dropped.  By  the  time 
the  first  crock  was  filled  with  milk  and  adjusted  to  its 
place  in  the  cold  current,  she  had  recalled  that 
morning  of  nearly  three  years  before,  when  she  had 
resolved  to  forsake  father  and  mother  and  cleave  to 
Morton ;  by  the  time  the  second  crock  had  been  neatly 
covered  with  its  clean  block  she  thought  she  could 
almost  hear  him,  as  she  had  heard  him  singing  on 
that  morning : 

'*  Ghaist  nor  bogle  shalt  thou  fear, 
Thou  'it  to  love  and  heaven  sae  dear, 
Nocht  of  ill  may  come  thee  near, 
My  bonnie  dearie." 

4 

she  and  Morton  had  long  since,  in  accordance 


330 


THE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 


with  the  Book  of  Discipline,  given  up  "singing  those 
songs  that  do  not  tend  to  the  glory  of  God,"  but  she 
felt  a  longing  to  hear  Morton's  voice  again,  assuring 

her  of  his  strong  pro- 
tection, as  it  had  on 
that  morning  three 
years  ago.  Meanwhile, 
she  had  filled  all  the 


AT  THE  SPRING-HOUSE  AGAIN. 


crocks,  and  now  turned  to  pass  out  of  the  low  dool 
when  she  saw,  standing  there  as  he  had  stood  on  that 
other  morning,  Morton  Goodwin.  He  was  more  manly, 


GETTING    THE    ANSWER.  331 

more  self-contained,  'than  then.  Years  of  discipline 
had  ripened  them  both.  He  stepped  back  and  let  her 
emerge  into  the  light;  he  handed  her  that  note  which 
Pinkey  had  dictated  to  Ann  Eliza,  and  which  Patty 
read  : 

"REV.  MORTON  GOODWIN: 

"  Dear  Sir — The  engagement  between  us  is  broken  off.     It  is 

my  fault  and  not  yours. 

"ANN  E.  MEACHAM." 

"  It  must  have  cost  her  a  great  deal,"  said  Patty, 
in  pity.  Morton  loved  her  better  for  her  first  unselfish 
thought. 

He  told  her  frankly  the  history  of  the  engagement; 
and  then  he  and  Patty  sat  and  talked  in  a  happiness 
so  great  that  it  made  them  quiet,  until  some  one 
came  to  call  her,  when  Morton  walked  up  to  the 
house  to  renew  his  acquaintance  with  the  invalid  and 
mollified  Captain  Lumsden. 

"  Faix,  Moirton,"  said  Brady,  afterward,  when  he 
came  to  understand  how  matters  stood,  "  you  've  got 
the  answer  in  the  book.  It  's  quare  enough.  Now, 
*  one  and  one  is  two '  is  aisy  enough,  but  *  one  and 
one  is  one '  makes  the  hardest  sum  iver  given  to  any- 
body. You  've  got  it,  and  I  'hi  glad  of  it.  May  ye 
niver  conjugate  the  varb  'to  love*  anyways  excipt 
prisent  tinse,  indicative  mood,  first  parson,  plural  num- 
ber, 'we  love.'  I  don't  keer  ef  ye  add  the  futur* 
tinse,  and  say,  'we  will  love,'  nor  ef  ye  put  in  the 
parfect  and  say,  'we  have  loved,'  but  may  ye  always 
stick  fast  to  first  parson,  plural  number,  prisint  tinse, 
indicative  mood,  active  v'ice  !  " 

Morton    returned    to    Jenkinsville   circuit   in    some 


332  TffE    CIRCUIT  RIDER. 

\ 

trepidation.  He  feared  that  the  old  brethren  would 
blame  him  more  than  ever.  But  this  time  he  found 
himself  the  object  of  much  sympathy.  Ann  Eliza  had 
forestalled  all  gossip  by  renewing  her  engagement 
with  the  very  willing  Bob  Holston,  who  chuckled  a 
great  deal  to  think  how  he  had  "  cut  out "  the 
preacher,  after  all.  And  when  Brother  Magruder  came 
to  understand  that  he  had  not  understood  Morton's 
case  at  all,  and  to  understand  that  he  never  should  be 
able  to  understand  it,  he  thought  to  atone  for  any 
mistake  he  might  have  made  by  advising  the  bishop 
to  send  Brother  Goodwin  to  the  circuit  that  included 
Hissawachee.  And  Morton  liked  the  appointment 
better  than  Magruder  had  expected.  Instead  of  living 
with  his  mother,  as  became  a  dutiful  son,  he  soon 
installed  himself  for  the  year  at  the  house  of  Captain 

!Lumsden,  in  the  double  capacity  of  general  supervisor 
of  the  moribund  man's  affairs  and  son-in-law. 

There  rise  before  me,  as  I  write  these  last  lines, 
visions  of  circuits  and  stations  of  which  Morton  was 
afterward  the  preacher-in-charge,  and  of  districts  of 
which  he  came  to  be  presiding  elder.  Are  not  all  of 
these  written  in  the  Book  of  the  Minutes  of  the  Con- 
ferences? But  the  silent  and  unobtrusive  heroism  of 
Patty  and  her  brave  and  life-long  sacrifices  are  recorded 
nowhere  but  in  the  Book  of  God's  Remembrance. 

THE   END. 


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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


